SOIENCE-FICTION
THE STOLEN .
DORMOUSE
ly 1. SPRAeUE DE CAMP
APRIL • 1941
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ASTOUKDIIIG
SCIENCE-FSCTION
TITLE REGISTERED U. 8. PATEWT OFFICE
CONTENTS APRIL, 1941 VOL. XXVII NO, 2
The editorial contents of this maeasine have not been published before, are
protected by copyright and cannot be reprinted without the publisher’s permission.
FEATURE SERIAL
THE STOLEN DORiyOIISE ..... L.'SprcigH© de Cemp . 9
A feudal world of the future, wherein Sir Business-
man Jones has his fends with His Efficiency Brown!
NOVELETTES
MBCROCOSMIC GOD ...... Tfesodere Stssrgsess . . U
He made a microuniverse to learn more rapidly the proc-
esses of bis own — and was god to the creatures he put in.
THE IMOTINEERS ....... wti Rachen . .127
The Kilkenny Cats were as determined as ever to
kill themselves off — either hy fight or being fools.
SHORT STORIES
REASON . isetae .... 33
The robot accepted nothing he couldn’t prove — which,
very reasonably, made the men inferior beings!
THE SCRAySLER . Hrarry Waltaw ... 7®
Strange fish, the men caught in deep space —
they thought. Turned out that it caught them!
SLACKERS' PARADISE ..... y@leolm James®in . . 82
When the skipper of a space rowboat had a battleship surrender to him —
NOT THE FIRST ......... A. E. vosi Vegf ... 94
They encountered the strange trouble for the first time — they thought!
BIRD WALK _ P. SchiiySer Miller . .112
The birds of Venus could make a deadly
weapon if you knew thesi well enough.
SCIENCE ARTICLE
TREPIDATION ........ R, S. iichordsosi . .106
A Mount Wilson astrondmer describes a newly found proc-
ess of nature — absolute fact — that seems a concept straight
from science-fiction. There actually may be zones in space!
READERS' DEPARTMENTS
THE EDSTOrS PAGE , «
IN TIMES TO COME 69
THE ANALYTICAL LABORATORY .j 69
BRASS TACKS AND SCIENCE DISCUSSIONS 159
Concerning Purely Personal Preferences.
STREET
Illustrations by M. Isip, R. Uip, Kramer, Binder, Rogers, and Schneeman.
COVER BY ROGERS
All stories in this magazine are fiction. No actual persons are designated
either by name or character. Any similarity is coincidental.
Monthly publication issued by Street & Smith PublieatSons, Incorporated, 70 Seventh Avenue, New
York City. Allen L. Grammer, President; Henry W. Ralston, Vice President; Gerald H. Smith.
Treasurer and Secretary. Copyrisht, 1941, in U. 8. A. and Great Britain by Street & Smith
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Printed in the U. S. A.
S SMITH PUBLICATIONS, INC. • 79 7fh AYE., NEW YORK
Since Man’s industrial civilization isn’t very old, he hasn’t “used up”
the rich pockets of natural resources yet — but he’s made a pretty fair start.
Our method of civilization at present tends to take substances concentrated
by slow, age-long natural processes, work them over a bit, and distribute
them as widely as possible.
Already in Europe, where civilization of that order has been going a
good bit longer, the rich pockets are largely exhausted. They’ve been mined
by men for three to six thousand years. Ours in America are newer — -but
we’re mining ^th steam shovels and high explosives to catch up with
exhaustion more quickly. How about the year after next — and the civiliza-
tion after next.?
Three substances of commercial use are being produced today by
profitably exploiting permanent and absolutely inexhaustible sources. In-
stead of mining rich concentrates and distributing the product in low con-
centration, material already in its state of maximum dispersion is being
concentrated for use. As a consequence, the supplies of those materials
can never diminish.
Magnesium ores are common on land — but impure. Magnesium re-
covered from sea water yields a very pure “ore”^ — magnesium hydroxitle —
for further processing. The difference pays for the cost of “working” sea
water.
Bromine is plentiful, but so dilute, already so widely distributed, on
land as to make recovery uneconomic. It has reached its ultimate dilution
in the sea — but handling a million tons of raw material, when that raw
material is already liquid, is much easier than handling half the mass of
rock. Hence, sea water becomes a commercially feasible source for bromine.
Iodine can be extracted from sea water only indirectly, by letting
various fast-growing, large sea,weeds of the kelp group perform the extrac-
tion, and recovering it in turn from them. But recovery processes working
over natural brines from salt-water wells and oil-well waste waters has
broken the monopoly Chile once held.
xHl the elements of Earth are present in greater or less dilution in sea
water. In an age when there are yet thousands of rich mineral pockets to
be exploited, we have already learned to recover several elements from their
ultimate dilution. It seems unlikely that there will ever be a time when
the major elements are unobtainable, for as the pockets are exhausted, the
technology of sea-water recovery will be improving. And, since the cost
of pumping and handling the inert mass of water is the prime cost of re-
covery from the sea, the recovery of one element helps cheapen the recovery
of others. Since water is already being pumped to recover bromine, the
same water might be treated further for other elements without much more
pumping. There will be a snowballing tendency toward sea-water sources.
The sea is a permanent and inexhaustible resource, for everything taken,
out returns eventually, one way or another.
The Editor.
J. E. Smith
President
fJattonai Radio Institute
Established 25 years
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Name Age — . . ...
Address
City State 2Fr-3
^ There are approklmately four hundred mil-
lion people In the Western Hemisphere. During
1940 almost twice that number
LISTENED TO . ..THE SHADOW!. ...over the radio
READ ABOUT . ..THE SHADOW! ...In magazines
Almost a million words — 960,000, to be exact—
were written by Maxwell Grant for stories about
THE SHADOW published during 1940. This is a
any one fictional character in the world. THE
SHADOW radio program has the highest half-
hour-show popularity rating on record. His movie
serials are all-time best-sellers. THE SHADOW
ing number of daily newspapers, and SHADOW
COMICS is ra.pidly becoming America's favorite
comic magazine. THE SHADOW'S motto, "Crime
Does Not Pay," has become a national slogan.
His weird laugh is known all over the earth.
This is THE SHADOW'S tenth anniversary. A dec-
ade of death to crime is its own indication of his
tremendous popularity.
The greatest mystery character of all time is . • •
SAW
and newspapers
.THE SHADOW!. ...on the motion-
picture screen
And this audience Is growing constantly!
greater volume of writing than has been done on
newspaper strip is appearing in an ever-increas-
THE SHADOW'S GREATEST ADVENTURE IN THE CURRENT ISSUE
@
By L Sprayue k Camp
Pari One of a new serial eemcerrafng a sfolen
semi-corpse— -0« eisfineer Im sssspended astlma-
fim tmckes off a war in a lafer-day feudaSsssn!
Illustrated by Rogers
The riot started during the Los foresighted managers of the Exposi-
Angeles Radio Exposition, in, the tion had put the Crosley and Strom-
third week of February, 2236. The berg exhibits as far apart as pos-
10
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
sible. But they could not prevent
the members of \hese companies
from meeting occasionally.
Thus, on the day in question, TEs
Integrity, Billiam Bickham-Smith,
chairman of Stromberg, had passed
into the recesses of the Stromberg
booth, leaving a froth of lesser no-
bility and whitecollars in his wake,
when a couple of Crosley whitecol-
lars dropped an injudicious remark
within hearing.
A Stromberg whitecollar said to
one of these stiffly; “Did I hear you
say our prefab houses leaked, sir?”
“You did, sir,” replied one of the
Crosleys evenly.
“Are you picking a. fight with me,
sir?” The Stromberg fingered his
duelling stick.
“I am not. I am merely stating a
fact, sir.”
“Slandering our product is the
same as picking a fight, sir.”
“When I state a fact I state a
fact, sir. Good day.” The Crosley
turned his back.
The Stromberg’s stick hissed
through the air and whacked the
Crosley ’s skull. The Crosley’s skull
gave forth a muffled clang, where-
upon the Stromberg knew that his
enemy wore a steel cap disguised by
a wig.
Now, no member of the nobility
would have hit an enemy from be-
hind. But the Stromberg was a
mere low-born whitecollar, which
somewhat excused his action in the
eyes of his contemporaries.
The Crosley who had been hit,
shrieked “Foul!” and broke his as-
sailant’s nose with a neat backhand.
Strombergs boiled out of the exhibit,
pulling on padded gloves and duel-
ling goggles.
At that instant, Horace Crosley
Juniper-Hallett passed on his way
to the Crosley booth to take up his
outhanding for the day. His job
was to pass out catalogues, printed
in bright colors on slick paper, de-
scribing the Crosley exhibits, and
also the many commodities other
than radios, such as automobiles and
microscopes, manufactured by this
“radio” company. Exhibit-goers,
unable to resist the lure of something
for nothing, would collect up to
twenty pounds of these brochures in
the course of their visit, and like as
not, drop them in a heap beside the
gate on their way out. Horace
Juniper-Hallett himself was of me-
dium height and slim — skinny, if
you want the brutal truth. His com-
plexion was fair and his hair pale
blond. He had twice given up try-
ing to grow a mustache; after a
month of trying, nobody could see
the results of his cultivation except
himself. Take a good look at him,
for this ineffectual-looking youth is
our hero.
As he was barely twenty-two, and
not too mature for his age, his be-
havior patterns had not yet hard-
ened in the mold of experience. Just
now, of the several conflicting im-
pulses that seized him, that of play-
ing peacemaker was uppermost. He
ran up and pulled the nearest of tlie
embattled partisans back. His eye
caught that of Justin Lane-Walsh,
heir to the Stromberg vice-presi-
dential chair. He shouted: “Here,
you, help me separate ’em!”
“Bah!” roared the heir to the vice
presidency. “I hate all Crosleys,
’specially you. Defend yourself!”
And he advanced, whirling his duel-
ling stick around his head. He and
Juniper-Hallett were whacking away
merrily, as wei*e all the other mem-
bers of the feuding companies in
sight, when the police arrived.
A DUELLING STICK, whoSe Weight i:.i
regulated by the conventions, is n.o
match for a three-foot nightstick.
THE STOLEN DORMOUSE
11
When the cla tter had died down, and
the physicians were doing emergency
repairs on assorted skulls, collar
bones, and so, forth, the chief of po-
lice summoned the chairmen of the
rival houses.
Billiam Bickham-Smith of Strom-
beig and Archwin Taylor-Thing of
Crosley appeared, glaring.
“Aw right,” said the chief. “I
warned you ’bout this here feudin’.
I said, the next time they’s a scrap
in a. public place, I’d close up your
show. I wouldn’t say a word if
yoTi’d fight your duels out in the
hills somewhere. But 1 got to pro-
teck the innocent bystanders.”
The chief of police was a small,
sallow man. He wore the blue tunic
of oflicialdom, with a shield bearing
the motto of the Corporate State:
Alls im.s nicht Pflicht ist, ist ver-
boten— “All that is not compulsory
is forbidden.” His trouser legs were
gayly colored, in different patterns:
one that of the American Empire,
the other that of Los Angeles, the
capital.
Archwin of Crosley looked through
the head of the rival house as though
Billiam of Stromberg were not there.
He said to the chief: “You can’t
expect my men to submit to unpro-
voked assault. Unprovoked as-
sa,\ilt.”
“Unprovoked!” snorted Billiam of
Stromberg. “Aly lord chief, I’ve got
all the witnesses you want that egg-
head’s men struck first.”
“What?” yelled Archwin of Cros-
ley. “Where’s my stick?”
Whereas, Billiam of Stromberg
had a beautiful head of silky white
hair. Archwin of Crosley had no hair
at all. He was sensitive to references
to this fact.
“Won’t do you no good to start
a fight here,” said the chief. “I’m
going to close you up. I represent
the plain citizens of Los Angeles,
and we don’t want no feudin’ in the
city limits. The Imperial Board of
Control will back me up, too.”
“Vulgar rabble,” muttered Billiam
of Stromberg.
“Have to travel all day to get out
of the limits of this city,” growled
Arch win of Crosley.
The chairmen subsided, looking
unhappy. They did not want the
Exposition closed; neither, really,
did the chief of police. Aside from
the dangers of antagonizing two of
the noblest clans of the American
Empire,, there was the loss of busi-
ness.
He let them think for half a min-'t
ute, then said: “Course, if you’d
agree to discipline your men hard
enough next time there’s a fight,
maybe we could let the show go on.”
“I’ll go as far as that old goat
will,” said Archwin of Crosley.
“What’s your plan?” a,sked Bil-
liam of Stromberg, controlling him-
self with visible effort.
“This,” said the chief. “Any man
who gets in a scrap gets degraded,
if he belongs to one of the orders,
and read out of his company.
The chairmen looked startled.
This was drastic. Billiam Bickham-
Smith asked: “Even if he’s of the
rank of executive?”
“Even if he’s of the rank of entre-
preneur.”
“Whew!” That was little short of
sacrilege. *
Archwin of Crosley asked: “Even
if he’s the innocent party?”
• “Even if he’s the innocent party.
’Count of both of ’em would claim
they was innocent, and the only
thing we could do would be give ’em
a trial by liedetector, and everybody
knows how to beat the liedetector
nowadays. Do you agree on your
honor as an entrepreneur. Lord
Arch win?”
“I agree.”
12
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
“You, Your Integrity of Strom-
berg?”
“Uh-huh.”
Back at the Crosley exhibit, Arch-
win Taylor-Thing searched out
Horace Juniper-Hallett. His Integ-
rity’s eye had the sparkle of one who
bears devastatingly good news.
He said: “Horace, that was a fine
piece of work you did this morning.
A fine piece of work. That was just
the right course to follow; just the
right course. Try to prevent trou-
ble, but if your honor’s attacked,
give back better than you get. I’ve
had my eye on you for some time.
But, until today, you minded your
own affairs and didn’t do anything
to businessman you for.” The chair-
man raised his voice: “Come gather
round, all you loyal Crosleys.
Gimme a stick, somebody. Thanks.
Kneel, Whitecollar Juniper-Hallett.”
He tapped Juniper-Hallett on the
shoulder and said: “Rise, Horace
Juniper-Hallett, Esquire. You are
now of the rank of businessman,
with all the privileges and responsi-
bilities of that honorable rank. I
hereby present to you the gold-in-
laid fountain pen and the brief case
that are the insignia of your new
status. Guard them with your life.”
It was over. The Crosleys
crowded around, slapi^ing Junijjer-
Hallett’s back and wringing his
hand. Dimly, he heard Lord Arch-
win’s voice telling him he could have
the rest of the day off.
Then he was instructing a sti‘11
younger whitecollar, Wilmot Dunn-
Terry, in the duties of the out-
hander. “You encourage ’em to take
one of each of the catalogues,” he
said, “but not more than one. Some
of these birds’ll try to walk off with
half a dozen of each, just because
they’re free.” He lowered his voice.
“Along around fifteen o’clock, your
feet will begin to hurt. If there’s a
lull in the business, look around
carefully to see that none of the
nobles is in sight, and sit down. But
don’t stay sat long, and don’t get to
reading or talking. Keep your eyes
open for visitors and nobles, espe-
cially nobles. Got it?”
Dunn-Terry grinned at him.
“Thanks, Horace. Can I still call
you Horace, now that you’re a busi-
nessman and all? Say, what’s this
about the theft of a dormouse from
Sleepers’ Crypt?”
“Huh? I haven’t heard. Haven’t
seen a paper this morning.”
“One of ’em’s disappeared,” said
Dunn-Terry. “I overheard some of
the nobility talking about it. They
sounded all worked up. There was
some talk about the Hawaiians,
too.”
Juniper-Hallett shrugged. His
head was too full of his recent good
fortune to pay much attention. The
clock hands reached ten; the gates
opened; the visitors started to trickle
in. A still slightly dazed Horace
Juniper-Hallett wandered off.
His hand still tingled from the
squeezing it had received. He won-
dered what on earth he had done to
deserve his elevation to businessman-
hood. He was young for the rank,
he knew. True, he was of noble
blood on his mother’s side, but Arch-
win of Crosley had the reputation
of leaning over backward to avoid
favoring members of the ruling class
in dealing out businessmanhoods; he
had even been known to elevate pro-
letarians.
What Juniper-Hallett did not
know was that the chairman was
trying to build him up as a possible
heir to the presidency. His Acumen,
the president of Crosley, was getting
on; he had two sons, one a moron
and the other a young hellion. Next
in line, by relationship, was Juniper-
THE STOLEN DOEMOUSE
IS
Hallett himself. Though, as the re-
lationship was remote, and Juniper-
HaJlett was of noble blood on his
mother’s side only, he had not given
the prospect any thought. His
Acumen, the president, father of the
precious pair of misfits, did not know
the chairman’s plans, either.
Junipeh-Hallett, in his happy
daze, noted casually the scowls of
the Stromberg whitecollars. But the
brief case and the fancy fountain pen
in his breast pocket gave him the
feeling that the hostility of such rab-
ble could no longer affect him.
Then he saw a girl. The daze
cleared instantly, to be replaced by
one of pinkish hue. She was a stun-
ning brunette, and she wore the
Stromberg colors of green, brown,
and yellow. She was leaning against
part of one of the Stromberg booths.
Juniper-Hallett had seen her picture,
and knew she was the daughter of
His Integrity Billiam Bickham-
Smith, chairman of Stromberg. Her
name was Janet Bickham-Coates,
“Coates” being her mother’s father’s
family name.
Juniper-Hallett stood very still,
listening to the blood pounding in
his ears, and looking, not at the girl,
but at a, point three meters to the
left of her. He ran over what he
knew of her — she was just about his
age; went in for sports —
He was determined to do some-
thing about her. At the moment, he
could not think what. If the Strom-
bergs had been friendly, it would
have been simple; some of them un-
doubtedly knew her to speak to. But
as things were, she’d probably be no
more ingratiated by the sight of the
Crosley colors — a blue-and-yellow-
striped coat and red pants — ^than the
rest of them.
Nor would it be simple to get a
suit of Stromberg colors. First, the
obligations of businessmanhood for-
bade it. Second, the salesman in
the clothing department of the drug-
store would make you identify your-
self. He’d want no trouble with the
genuine Strombergs for having sold
a suit of their colors to an outsider.
And the Strombergs were throw-
ing a big dinner that night.
-Justin Lane-Walsh appeared. He
put his hat on his head of copper-
wire curls and walked past Juniper-
Hallett. He slowed down as he
passed, growling: “If it weren’t for
the old man’s orders, you dirty Cros-
ley, I’d finish what we started, sir.”
Juniper-Hallett fell into step be-
side him. “I’m sorry I can’t oblige
you, you dirty Stromberg. I’d like
nothing better, sir.”
“I’m sorry, too. Don’t know what
we can do about it.”
Juniper-Hallett felt an idea com-
ing, He said: “Let’s grab some
lunch, and then go somewhere and
drink to our mutual sorrow.”
“By the great god Service, that’s
an idea!” Lane-Walsh looked down
at his enemy with an almost friendly
expression. “Come along, sister.”
“Coming, you big louse.” They
went.
“SiH,” said Lane-Walsh over his
third drink, “I can just imagine my
stick crunching through that baby
face of yours. Swell thought, huh?”
“I don’t know,” said Juniper-Hal-
lett. He winced every time Lane-
Walsh made a crack like that about
his looks. But he was learning,
somewhat late in life, not to let such
taunts drive him into a fury. “I find
the idea of knocking those big ears
loose a lot nicer. Why do all Strom-
bergs have ears that stick out?”
Lane-Walsh shrugged. “Why are
all Crosleys baby-faced shrimps?”
“I wouldn’t call Lord Arch win
baby-faced,” said Juniper-Hallett
14
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
judiciously. “Any baby with a face
like his would probably scare its par-
ents to death.”
“That’s so. Maybe I judge the
rest of ’em by you. Well,” he held
up his glass, “here’s to an early and
bloody settlement of our differ-
ences.”
“Right,” said Juniper-Hallett.
“May the worst man get all his teeth
knocked out. Look, Justin old scum,
what have you heard about the
stealing of a dormouse from the
Crypt?”
Lane- Walsh’s face went elabo-
rately blank. “Not a thing, sister,
not a thing.”
“I heard the Hawaiians might be
mixed up in it.”
“Might be,” said Lane-Walsh.
“The dormouse that was stolen, a
guy named Arnold Ryan, was half
Hawaiian, they say.”
“He must date back to the days
of single surnames. Wasn’t he the
original inventor of hibernine?”
“He — ” Lane- Walsh’s face went
through a perfect double-take, as he
realized that he had fallen over his
own mental feet. He covered his
confusion with a big gulp of rye-and-
soda. Then he said: “You never
know what those devilish Hawaiians
are uja to. Loafers, pirates, blas-
phemers against the good god Serv-
ice. They’ve stopped another ship-
ment of tungsten from New Cale-
donia.”
“Sure,” said Juniper-Hallett. “But
about this dormouse Ryan, whom
you just said you didn’t know any-
thing about — ”
“I said I didn’t knmu,” said Lane-
Walsh angrily. “I may have hmrd
a few things. Now, I say these Ha-
waiians ought to be wiped out.
What’s the matter with our ad-
mirals? Scared of a few flying tor-
pedoes? I — ”
“Pipe down,” said Juniper-Hallett.
Lane-Walsh saw that he was at-
tracting attention, and lowered his
brassy voice. “Right. Say, I’ll be
getting drunk at this rate. And I’ve
got to be at the speakers’ table to-
night.”
Juniper-Hallett smiled. “Fm an
A. C. member. How about drop-
ping in there for a steam bath and
a rubdown?”
“Swell. You really take exercise
and everything? You’ll be a man
before your mother, sir.”
“Yep. One of these days I’ll pull
your neck out by the roots and tie
it in knots. Your Loyalty.”
“O. K., if you. can do it. Makes
me almost wish you were a human
being instead of a stinking Crosley.
Let’s go.”
Juniper-Hallett took a. steam
bath with his enemy, wishing that
he, too, had a set of muscles like the
tires of a transcontinental bus.
Years of conscientious weight-lifting
and other, equally dull, exercise had
hardened Juniper-Hallett’s stringy
muscles until he was much stronger
than he looked. But still he was not
satisfied. Every bathing suit adver-
tisement roused his inferiority com-
plex.
He said to Justin Lane-Walsh:
“About that dormouse — ”
“Oh, forget the dormouse,” said
Lane-Walsh. “You know as much
about him as I do. As I understand
it, he’s not due to wake up for an-
other fifty years, so whoever’s stolen
him is welcome to him.”
“But suppose somebody’s found a
way of rousing a man from a hiber-
nine trance — ”
“Bunk. They’ve tried over and
over again, and all tliey accom-
plished was killing a few dormice.
Shut up, sister, and let me enjoy the
steam.”
Juniper-Hallet was too angry to
THE STOLEN DORMOUSE
16
say anything. But the heat soon
sweated his sulks out of him, and he
put his mind on the problem of the
stunning brunette. When he spoke
to Lane-Walsh again, it was to ex-
tol the abilities of a masseur named
Gustav. Lane-Walsh bit.
While Gustav was sinking his
thumbs up to the second joint in
Lane-Walsh 's tortured muscles, Hor-
ace Juniper-LIallett calmly dressed,
put Lane-Walsh ’s coat and pants in
his new brief case, and walked out.
Three hours later, he showed up
at the ballroom of the American
Empis-e Hotel. He was wearing
Lane-Walsh’s suit, with the Strom-
berg colors of green for the coat and
brown, with yellow stars, for the
pants. Llis landlady. Service bless
her, had taken a few reefs in it, so
that it did not fit quite as badly as
when he had first tried it on. Lie
had further disguised himself by
screwing Lane-Walsh’s monocle,
which had been attached by a thread
to the coat lapel, into his right eye.
It made him see double, but that
was a detail.
Horace Juniper-Hallett was
young; he was thin-skinned; he was
afraid of doormen, headwaiters, and
policemen; he had an inferiority
complex a yard wide. But such is
the magic of sex — well, love, if you
want a nicer word for it — that he
now marched up to the doorman of
this ballroom as if he had had the
courage of six lions poured into him.
He had always considered himself a
poor actor. But now he beamed con-
fidence as he put his hand in his
pocket. When the hand of course
found no admission card, his expres-
sion of shocked dismay would have
melted an even harder heart than
that of this doorman — who had been
specially picked for hardness of
heart.
“Must have left it in my other
suit!” he bleated.
“That’s all right, sir,” said the
doorman, eying the green coat, the
.star-spangled pants, and the busi-
nessman’s fountain pen. “Just give
me your name.”
Juniper-Hallett gave an alias, and
described himself as a Stromberg
salesologist fi'om Miami. He
checked his hat and duelling stick,
and went in.
II.
The balehoom was full of Strom-
bei’gs and their women. Juniper-
Hallett thought that the Stromberg
colors en masse were pretty depress-
ing. Now, at a Crosley ball —
A couple of Strombergs near him
were talking; executives by their
heavy watch chains, nobles by their
self-assured bearing. One said:
‘‘When the uranium gave out, we
went back to petroleum, and when
that gave out, we went back to coal.
If the antarctic coal gives out — ”
“How about alcohol?” asked the
other.
“All you’d have to do would be to
cut the earth’s population by three
quarters. You can’t grow alcohol
grains in little tin trays, you know.”
“The Hawaiians — ” The speaker
realized that his voice was carrying
to Juniper-Hallett; he lowered it and
pulled his companion farther away.
Juniper-Hallett was not listening.
He had located , Janet Bickham-
Coates. She was standing on the
edge of a crowd of portly Stromberg
lesser nobility surrounding His In-
tegrity, the chairman.
Juniper-Hallett strolled up and
tapped his forehead in greeting.
“Care to dance, my lady?” he asked
casually. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m afraid
you don’t remember me. Horace
Stromberg Esker-Vanguard, Esquire.
I met you at the last convention.
You don’J mind?”
Juniper Hallett swung lustily. The head dropped
abruptly out of sight, and groaned somewhere below.
THE STOLEN DOEMOUSE
!■?
She touched her forehead too,
then, and melted into his ams. She
murmured: “I’m glad you had the
nerve to ask me. The young white-
coJlars are all afraid to go near fa-
ther. So I’ve been dancing with fat
His Acumen this and His Efneiency
that for an hour.”
“How was the dinner?” he a.sked.
“Frightful. The speeches, I
mean; the food was all right.”
“Was His Loyalty, Justin Lane-
Walsh, there?”
“No, now that I think, he wasn’t.”
Then she asked: “What’s your real
name?”
“Didn’t I tell you?”
“No, you didn’t.” She laughed up
at him. It buoyed his ego to find
that this girl laughed up at him,
even if he was a shrimp compared
to Lane-Walsh. She said: “You
see, I never attended the last con-
vention.”
“The music’s good, isn’t it?”
“Now, my young friend, you can’t
get away with — ”
“Janet!” said a hearty female
voice. Juniper-HaJlett saw a tall,
beaky, gray-haired woman. “I don’t
think I know this one.”
“Mother,” said Janet, “this is . . ,
uh . . . Businessman — ”
“Horace Esker-Vanguard,” put in
J uniper-H allett pleasantly .
“Not a bad-looking young fellow,”
said the grand dame critically, “in
spite of the silly eyeglass. I don’t
know why they wear them. What
did you catch him with, Janet?
Salt?”
“Mother!” '
“Ha-ha, now she’s embarrassed.
Businessman Horace. Does the
young good to be embarrassed occa-
sionally. Keeps ’em from taking
themselves too seriously. She’s
quite a pretty girl when she blushes,
don’t you think? Well, run along,
children, and try not to be bored.
These conventions are stupid, don’t
you think? Poor Janet’s been danc-
ing all evening with dodos of my
generation.” She and Juniper-Hal-
let touched their foreheads.
“And now,” said the girl, “how
about telling me who you really
are.?”
“Must we come back to that sub-
ject? They’re starting a trepak.”
“I’m afraid we must.”
“You wouldn’t want to see me
scattered all over the ballroom,
would you? A head here, a leg
there?”
“I’d hate to see you scattered all
over anything. But there’ll be some
investigating unless you talk.”
So Juniper-HaJlett, his heart
pounding with apprehension, told
her who he was. Instead of being
augi-y, she took it as a joke. Then
she insisted on being told how he
had come by the suit of Stromberg
colors. She took this for an even
better joke.
“It served Justin right,” she said.
“I don’t like his type — loud-mouthed
ruffian, always bragging of his suc-
cess with women. I suppose I
shouldn’t talk that way about my
own cousin, especially in the pres-
ence of the enemy. But now, why
did you go to all that trouble to
crash our gate?”
“To meet you.”
“Do I come up to your expecta-
tions?”
“I could judge that better,” he
said thoughtfully, “on neutral
ground. You remember what your
mother said about conventions.”
“My mother,” she replied, “has re-
markably good sense at times.”
On the way out, Juniper-Hal-
lett’s ear caught a phrase ending
with “ — do with the dormouse.”
Hell’s bones, he thought, why did
that subject have to come up to dis-
18
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
tract him from his present busi-
ness? The Strombergs were up to
something; he was sure he hadn’t
been taken in by Lane-Walsh’s elab-
orate protestations of ignorance.
And then there was the Stromberg
who had spoken of exhaustion of
antarctic coal. It never rained but
it poured. You droned along with
an uneventful existence. Then all
at once you met the most v^onderful
girl in the world; you were elevated
to businessmanhood, with the pros-
pect of eventually becoming an ex-
ecutive or even an entrepreneur and
being allowed to carry a personal
two-way radiophone; a couple of
first-class mysteries were thrust un-
der your nose. You couldn’t do all
these subjects justice at the same
time. The good god Service ought
to arrange his timing better.
He was sure Janet was the most
wonderful girl in the world, on the
quite inadequate grounds that her
presence made him feel tall, brave,
debonair, resourceful, cool-headed,
and all the other things he’d wanted
to be. He felt, in fact, as though he
wouldn’t mind taking on a dozen
Justin Lane-Walshes with duelling
sticks at the same time.
He was lucky enough to get a
couple of good seats to a show. He
and Janet whispered for the first
twenty minutes, until people shushed
them.
But Juniper-Hallett still had too
much to think about to pay atten-
tion to the mesh— the three-dimen-
sional woven structure on which the
images were projected. He did re-
member later that the show was a
violent melodrama laid in the Cen-
tury of Revolutions, and that at one
point the heroine said; “I am going
to die, Boris! Do you hear me? I
am going to die!” Whereat, Boris
had ungallantly replied, “Well, stop
talking about it and do it!”
The Hawaiians — Justin Lane-
Walsh had mentioned them; so had
the Stromberg executive at the ball.
Horace Juniper-Hallett had been
brought up to scorn and suspect
them. They did not acknowledge
the sovereignty of any of the big,
orderly empires that divided the
globe between them. They did not
worship the great god Service. In-
stead of trying with all their might
to increase production and consump-
tion, as civilized people did, the
wicked, immoral Hawaiians made
their goods as durable as possible,
worked no more than they had to,
and sat around in the ,sun, loafing
the rest of the time.
To add injury to insult, they
raided the shipping lanes now and
then with their privateering sub-
marines, robbing the ships of raw
materials. And nothing, it seemed,
could be done about it. An attempt
bj'^ the combined American and
Mongolian navies to do something
about it, some years before, had
ended in disaster for the attackers —
“The show’s over,” said Janet in
his ear.
“Oh, is it?” he replied blankly.
“Let’s go somewhere where we can
talk.”
Next morning, Horace Juniper-
Hallett showed up at the Exposition,
walking warily and frowning. He
was wondering what he ought to do,
being a young man much given to
wondering what he ought to do. If
he showed his face around there too
much, Justin Lane-Walsh would
appear thirsting for his blood. He
was not afraid of Lane- Walsh, hav-
ing exchanged a few stick slashes
with him the day before and found
him nothing extraordinary. But if
he got in a fight, it would lead to all
sorts of complications; perhaps his
own degradation. And with his pri-
THE STOLEN DORMOUSE
19
vate affairs in such a delicate stage,
he did not want complications. On
the otlier hand he didn’t want people
to think he was afraid — On the
other hand —
He ascertained that Lord Arch-
win of Crosley was in his semi-office
in back of the Crosley exhibit. A
conference with His Integrity would
solve the problem for the present.
“Well, my boy,” said the bald,
billikenlike chairman, “how does it
feel to be a businessman?”
“Fine. But, Your Integrity, I
thought you’d be interested in a
couple of clues to the whereabouts
of the stolen dormouse.”
Archwin’s eyebrows, what little
there was of them, went up. “Yes,
Horace, I would be. Yes, I would
be. What do you know about it?”
Juniper-Hallett told him of Lane-
Walsh’s reaction, and of the men-
tion of the dormouse at the Strom-
berg ball.
“That’s interesting, if hardly con-
clusive,” said Archwin. “What in-
terests me more is how ymi got into
that ball.”
Juniper-Hallett gulped. He
thought he’d been keeping out of
trouble! But a businessman could
not tell a lie, except in advertising
his product. At least, so Juniper-
Hallett had been taught to believe.
He was in for disgrace and disaster,
no doubt, but — He blurted out the
story of his embezzlement of Lane-
Walsh’s clothes, without mentioning
his . evening with Janet. Then he
waited for the lightning to strike.
The chairman’s forehead wrin-
kled; his nose twitched; his lips
jerked; he burst into a roar of laugh-
ter. “That’s the best thing since
Billiam lost his pants in a duel with
me back in ’12! Congratulations,
Horace.”
“Then . . . then I’m not going to
AST— 2
be degraded for wearing false col-
ors?”
“Service bless you, no. If they’d
caught you and made a protest, I
might have had to go through some
motion or other. But if they’d caught
you, you probably wouldn’t have
survived to tell the story.”
“Whew!” Juniper-Hallett gave a
long sigh of relief. Mixed with the
relief was a slight feeling of disillu-
sionment. He’d always been taught
that the rules of businessman hood
were adamantine. Now they seemed
to have a few soft spots, after all.
And His Integrity’s integrity had ac-
quired the faintest tarnish. Juniper-
Hallett had taken his code so seri-
ously, and worried so about its vio-
lation —
“Let me think it over,” said Arch-
win. “I didn’t know you were such
a Sherlock. The last regular agent
we sent around to the Stromberg
building was beaten nearly to death
with sticks. Maybe I’ll have some
more use for you. Maybe I shall.”
The chairman agreed that it would
be prudent to transfer Juniper-Hal-
lett from the Exposition back to the
main office in the Crosley building.
Thither Juniper-Hallett went, almost
getting run over twice. His mind
was on his date with Janet the com-
ing evening. Not until he reached
the office, which was over the main
showroom, which stretched along
Wilshire Boulevard for six blocks,
did he remember that he had meant
to ask Lord Archwin about the state
of the antarctic coal fields.
They met in the Los Angeles
Nominatorium, one place they were
unlikely to be disturbed. The long
lines of columns stretched for blocks
in all directions. Each line was
sacred to one company or clan, and
each pillar bore the names and dates
ASTOUNDING SCIENGE-FICTION
SO
of the members of one family of that
company,
“Now up here,” said the guide, “is
sumthin’ interesting. You see that
blank space on the Froman column?
That’s where they’d have put John
Generalmotors Froman-Epstein, only
they didn’t put him nowheres. And
on the Packard colonnade, they’s
a blank space where they didn’t
put Theodora Packard Hughes-
Halloran, who married him. A Gen-
eralmotors marryin’ a Packard —
hm-m-m.” He saw that his visitors
were clearly not listening, and gave
up.
“Personally,” said Janet, “I don’t
care whether they put me on a col-
umn or not.”
“Neither do I,” said Juniper-Hal-
lett.
“Do we have to agree on every-
thing, Horace?”
“It sure looks that way. Maybe
you agree with me that this Crosley-
Stromberg feud’s gone on long
enough.”
“I certainly do. I asked father
once what started it, and he said no-
body in the company remembered
any more, but I could probably find
out if I wanted to dig back far
enough into the records.”
“It’s a lot of bunk,” said Juniper-
Hallett. Taking his courage in both
bands, he added: “I don’t see why
a person can’t marry whom he
pleases, companies or no companies.”
She nodded gravely. “It’s their
affair, isn’t it? Of course they ought
to stay within their own class.”
“Right. It doesn’t do to mix
classes. But there’s no logical rea-
son why you and I shouldn’t marry
if we felt like it, for instance.”
“No reason at all, if we felt like it.
Why, you’re much better suited t©
me than anyone in the Stromberg
Co.”
“Make it both ways. As a, mat-
ter of fact, I think it would be about
a perfect match.”
“Just about, wouldn’t it?”
“If we felt like it.”
“Oh, of course.”
Juniper-Hallett looked at his shoe
buckles. “Matter of fact, I know an
old geneticist who’d do it if I asked
him to.”
She turned to face him . “Horace,
you mean you do fee! like it?”
“Sure. Do you?”
“Of course! I was afraid you were
just citing an imaginary case — ”
“And I was afraid you were just
being nice — ”
“Ever since I met you last — ”
“Ever since I saw you — ”
The guide looked back over his
shoulder. He said “Hm-m-m!” and
shuffled off into the night.
“I’m afraid,” said Juniper-Hallett.
“You afraid? You weren’t afraid
of Justin yesterday. And you
weren’t afraid to invade the ball
last night.”
“It’s not that. I feel somehow
that something’s going to happen.
Something to separate us.”
“How frightful, Horace!”
“Yep, that’s the word for it. For
instance, do you know anything
about the antarctic coal situation?”
“No, I don’t suppose I do.
Though I’ve heard father — ”
“Go on.”
“Nothing definite; just a few
words now and then. I suppose I
ought to be more interested in coal
and such things. It’s hard to be,
though. But if that’s the case, I
don’t suppose we ought to wait — ”
“Any longer than we have to — ”
said Juniper-Hallett.
“We could start right now — ” said
Janet.
“And see that geneticist of mine.
I’ll have to go back to my house,
though, and get my pedigree. I sup-
pose you will, too.”
THE STOLEN DORMOUSE
SI
“No,” she said brightly, “I
brought mine along with me!” -,
TifE GENETICIST was a bcnevolent
old gent named Miles Carey-West.
He said hello to Juniper-Hallett, and
implied with a look that he knew
what his young friend had come for.
“Got your pedigrees?” he asked.
He glanced over Juniper-Hallett’s.
Then he looked at Janet’s. He whis-
tled when he saw the name at the
top.
“I thought I’d seen your face
somewhere,” he said, peering
through thick glasses. “Won’t this
cause all kinds of trouble?”
The young pair shrugged. Juni-
per-Hallett said: “Yep. We’re
ready for it.”
“Ah, well,” said Carey-West.
“No reasoning with the young and
headstrong. Maybe it’ll be a good
tiling; heal up this silly feud, Just
like Romeo and Juliet.”
“Who?” asked Juniper-Hallett.
“Romeo and Juliet. Couple of
characters in a play by a pre-indus-
trial English dramatist. Hope you
make out better than they did,
though.”
“What happened to them? I’d
like to read it.”
“They died. And you’d have to
read it in translation, unless you’re
a student of Old English. Raise
your right hands, both of you,”
Of course, thought Horace Juni-
per-Hallett, it was another dazzling
piece (jf luck, getting the girl of one’s
dreams right off the bat. But he
couldn’t help a slight feeling of dis-
satisfaction; a feeling that by rush-
ing things so impetuous^ he’d
missed something. Maybe it meant
nothing to have a big wedding and
walk out of the Gyratory Club un-
der an arch of duelling sticks held
by bis fellow businessmen. But it
would have been nice to have had
the experience.
It would not do to voice these
fugitive thoughts.
“Well — ” he said uncertainly.
They were standing outside the
geneticist’s house, which was on a
back street near Wilshire and Ver-
mont. Now that Juniper-Hallett
was no longer dazzled by the ap-
proaching headlights of matrimony,
he could see the swarm of problems
ahead of him clearly enough.
Janet was waxing her nose. She
said: “I’ll have to go back to the
Stromberg building for a few days,
anyway.”
“What? But I always thought —
I was led to believe — gulp — ”
“That a bride went to live with
her husband? Don’t be silly, dar-
ling. I’ll have to break the news
gently to my parents. Or they’ll
make a frightful row. I can’t go to
live with a member of a rival com-
pany without my own company’s
consent, you know.”
“Oh, very well.” Juniper-Hallett
had an uneasy feeling that his wife
would always be about three jumps
ahead of him in making decisions.
“Every hour we’re separated will be
hell for me, sweetheart.”
“Every minute will be for me, pre-
cious. But it can’t be helped.”
It was too early to go to bed; be-
sides which Horace J uniper-Hallett’s
mind was too full of a number of
things. Instead of heading for his
rooming house, he walked along Wil-
shire Boulevard toward Western
Avenue. The Crosley building
reared into the low clouds ahead of
h i m . The sight always aroused
Juniper-Hallett’s pride in his com-
pany. Time had been when such
tall buildings were forbidden because
of earthquakes. Then they had ex-
cavated the San Andreas rift and
22
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
filled it full of graphite. This, acting
as a lubricant, allowed relative mo-
tion of the earth on the two sides to
be smooth instead of jerks.
A light, cold drizzle began; one of
those Los Angeles winter rains that
may last for an hour or a week.
If he made good as a businessman,
he’d soon be able to move into the
Crosley building with the executives
and full-blooded nobility. If —
“Hey!” Juniper-Hallett saw Jus-
tin-Walsh running toward him, mak-
ing aggressive motions with his duel-
ling stick. The Stromberg must
have been hanging around the Cros-
ley building just in case. He yelled:
“YouTe the punk who stole my
clothes!”
“Now, Your Loyalty,” said Juni-
per-Hallett, “I’ll explain — ”
“To hell with your explanations!
Defend yourself!”
“But the chief’s order — ”
Whack! Juniper-Hallett got his
stick up just in time to parry a
downright cut at his head. After
that, his reflexes took hold. The
sticks swished and clattered. Pedes-
trians foimed a dense ring around
them; a ring that would suddenly
bulge outward when one of the
fighters came close to its boundary.
Lane-Walsh was stronger, but
Juniper-Hallett was faster. That,
with sticks of the standard Conven-
tion weight, gave him an advantage.
He feinted a flank-cut; followed it
by a left-cheek-cut. He was a little
high; the stick hit Lane-Walsh in
the temple. The heir to the Strom-
berg vice presidency dropped his
stick, and followed it to the pave-
ment.
Juniper-Hallett saw a policeman
coming up, drawn by the crowd and
the clatter of sticks. Juniper-Hal-
lett pushed out through the opposite
side of the ring. The crowd knew
what to do: they opened a lane for
him, meanwhile getting as much as
possible in the way of his pursuer.
Juniper-Hallett ducked down the
stairs of the Western Avenue station
of the Wilshire Boulevard subway
before the cop broke through the
crowd. After all, the young man
had furnished them with free enter-
tainment.
But, though Juniper-Hallett got
away, the police soon leained who
had sent Justin Lane-Walsh to the
hospital with a fractured .skull.
Everybody knew the colors of the
Crosley Co., which appeared on the
raincoat Juniper-Hallett had been
wearing as well as on his suit. His
brief case identified him as of the
rank of businessman. And, of the
members of that order, there was
only one Crosley of Juniper-Hallett’s
physical properties in Los Angeles
at that time.
They picked him up late that
night, still riding the subway back
and forth and wondering whether to
give himself up to them, go hotne as
if nothing had happened, or take an
airplane for Mongolia.
HI.
They led him into the Crosley
Co.’s private courtroom, wherein
cases between one member of the
company and another were normally
decided. The Old Man was there,
and the chief of police, and all the
Crosley higher-ups. Juniper-Hallett
looked around the semicircle of
stony faces. Whether they felt sor-
row, or indignation, or hostility, they
gave no sign.
Archwin Taylor-Thing, chairman
of Crosley, cleared his throat.
“Might as well get this over with.
Get it over with,” he muttered to
nobody in particular. He stepped
forward and raised his voice. “Hor-
ace Crosley Juniper-Hallett, Esquire,
THE STOLEN DORMOUSE
23
you have been found unworthy of
the honors of businessmanhood.
Hand over your brief case.”
Juniper-Hallett handed it over.
Archwin of Crosley took it and gave
it to His Economy, the treasurer.
“Your fountain pen, sir.”
Juniper-Hallett gulped at giving
up the last emblem of his status.
Archwin of Crosley broke the pen
over his knee. He got ink down his
trouser leg, but paid it no attention.
He threw the pieces into the waste-
basket.
He said: “Horace Crosley Juniper-
Hallett, Esquire, no longer, you are
hereby degraded to the rank of
whitecollar. You' shall never again
aspire to the honorable status of
businessmanhood, which you have
so lightly abused.
“Furthermore, in accordance with
the agreement of this honorable
company with the city of Los An-
geles, we are compelled to expel you
from our membership. From this
time forth, you are no longer a Cros-
ley. You shall, therefore, cease using
that honorable name. You are for-
ever excluded from the Crosley sec-
tion of the Imperial Nominatorium.
Neither we nor any of our affiliated
companies will have any further
commerce, correspondence, or com-
munication with you. We renounce
you, cast you out, utterly dissociate
ourselves from you.
“Go, Horace Juniper-Hallett,
never to return.”
Juniper-Hallett stumbled out.
He was halfway home, shuffling
along with bowed head, when he put
a hand in his coat pocket for a cig-
arette. He snatched out the note he
found, which had gotten there he
knew not how. It read:
Meet me twenty-three o’clock basement
Kergulen’s Restaurant tomorrow night.
Don’t tell anybody. Anybody. A. T.-T.
Juniper-Hallet decided he could
defer thoughts of suicide, at least
until he saw what the Old Man had
up his sleeve.
Junipbe-Hallbtt’s old friend, the
geneticist, was surprised, a week
later, to get a visit from Janet J uni-
per-Hallett, nee Bickham-Coates.
The girl looked a good deal thinner
than when Carey-West had seen her
last. She poured out a rush of ex-
planation: “Father was wild — sim-
ply wild. This is the first time
they’ve let me out of the Stromberg
building — and they sent my maid
along to make sure I wouldn’t sneak
off to Horace. Where is he? What’s
he doing?”
“He was in once after his expul-
sion,” said the geneticist. “He
looked like a wreck — unshaven, and
he’d been drinking pretty hard.
Told me he’d moved to a cheaper
place.”
“What’ll we do? Isn’t there any
way to rehabilitate him?”
“I think so,” said the old gentle-
man. “If he can get along for a
year, and moves to some city other
than the capital, I could arrange tc
have another radio company take
him in. The Arsiays are looking foi
new blood, I hear.”
Janet’s eyes were round. “Do
companies actually take in outcasts
like that?”
The geneticist chuckled. “Of
course they do! It’s highly irregu-
lar, but it does happen, if you know
how to finagle it. Our man won’t
have to stay isroletarianized for-
ever. These water-tight compart-
ments that our fine Corporate State
is divided into, have a way of de-
veloping leaks. You’re shocked, my
dear?”
“N-no. But you sound almost as
if you approved of the way they did
things back in the Age of Promiscu-
24
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
ity, wlien everyone married and
worked for whomever he pleased.”
“They got along. But let’s de-
cide about you and Horace.”
She sighed. “I can’t live with him,
and I can’t live without him. I’d
almost rather become a dormouse
than go on like this.”
“Now don’t look at me, my dear.
I wouldn’t sell you any hibernine if
I thought you should take it. Don’t
want to spend my declining years
in jail.”
Janet looked puzzled. “You mean
you might approve of it in some
cases?”
“Might, though you needn’t re-
peat that. In general, the laws
against the use of hibernine are
sound, but there are cases — ’’
The doorbell rang. Carey-West
admitted Horace Juniper-Hallett,
dressed as a proletarian, and whis-
tling.
“Janet!” he yelled, and reached for
her.
“Why, Horace!” she said a few
minutes later. “I thought you were
a wreck. Didn’t you mind being
expelled and degraded — and even
being separated from me?”
He grinned a little bashfully. If
he’d thought, he’d have put on a
better act. “That was all a phony,
darling. The general performance,
that is. I really got drunk. But
that was at the Old Man’s orders, to
make it more convincing.”
“Horace! What on earth do you
mean?”
“Oh, I’m technically an outcast,
working as an ashman for the city of
Los Angeles. But actually, I’m do-
ing a secret investigation for the
Crosleys. Lord Arch win saw me
after the ceremony and told me that
if I was successful, he’d have me re-
instated and — oh, gee!” Juniper-
Hallett’s boyish face registered dis-
way. “I forgot I wasn’t supposed to
tell anybody, even you!”
“Huh,” said Carey-West. “A fine
Sherlock your chaimian picked.”
“But now that you’ve gone that
far,” said Janet thoughtfully, “you
might as well tell us the rest.”
“I really oughtn’t — ”
“Horace! You don’t mistrust your
wife, do you?”
“Oh, very well. I’m supposed to
find out about this stolen dormouse.
And I’m starting with the Strom-
bergs.”
“My company!”
“Yep. Remember, we’re trying to
stop the feud and bring about a
merger between your company and
mine. So it’s mine as well as yours,
really.”
“But my own company — ”
Juniper-Hallett did his best to
look masterful. “That’s enough,
Janet old girl! You want me re-
instated and everything, don’t you?
Well, then, you’ll have to help me.”
The pbecise form of that help
Janet learned the following evening.
She was sitting at her window in the
Stromberg building, which towered
up out of the clump of low and often
fog-bound hills in the Inglewood dis-
trict. She was watching the lights of
Los Angeles and reading “How to
Hold a Husband,” by the thrice-
divorced Vivienne Banks-Carmody.
She’ was also scratching Dolores be-
hind the ear. Dolores was purring.
Came a knock, and Dolores, who
was shy about strangers, slunk un-
der the bed. Janet opened the door.
She squeaked: “Hor — ”
"Shr said Juniper-Hallett, slip-
ping in and closing the door behind
him. A fine rain of powdered, ash
sifted from his work clothes to the
carpet.
“How on earth did you get in
here?” she whispered.
THE STOLEN DOKMOUSE
25
“Simple.” He grinned, a little
nervously. “I stuck a wrench into
the works of the a.sh hopper and
jammed it. While the boys were
clustering about it and wondering
what to do, I slipped in through the
kitchen door. I rode up the service
elevator; nobody stoi ped me.” He
sat down, rustling and clanking a
bit. His clothes bulged.
“How did you know how to get
here? The place is like a maze.*’
“Oh, that.” He took a huge fist-
ful of papers from under his coat,
leafed through them, and selected
one. “They gave me a complete set
of plans before I started out. I’ve
got enough tools and things hung
around me to burgle the National
Treasury. I’m supposed to climb
through your air conditioning sys-
tem to the laboratory, to see if
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
m
they’ve got the stolen dormouse
there.”
“But—”
He stopped her with a wave. “I
can’t start until early in the morn-
ing, when tilings’ll be quiet.”
“About when.!^”
“Between three and four, they
told me. You’ve had your dinner,
haven’t you, darling.?'” He took out
a sandwich and munched.
“But Horace, you can’t stay here!”
“Why not?” He rose and entered
the bathroom to get a, glass of water.
“I have to get to bed some time,
and I can’t have a man — ”
“You’re my wife, aren’t you?”
“Good Service, so I am! This is
frightful!”
“What dq you mean, frightful?”
he said indignantly. “Matter of
fact, I was considering — ”
A knock interrupted him. Janet
asked: “Who’s there?”
“Me,” said the voice of Janet’s
mother.
“Quick, Horace! Just a minute,
mother! Hide under the bed! Do-
lores won’t hurt you.”
“Who’s Dolores?”
“My cat. rU be right there,
mother. Quick, please, please!”
Juniper-Hallett, thinking that his
bride might have shown a little more
enthusiasm for his company, stuffed
the rest of his sandwich into his
mouth, put away the transparent
sheet it had been wrapped in, and
rolled under the bed. Janet opened
the door.
“I thought I’d spend the night
with you,” said Janet’s mother.
‘T’ve been having those nightmares
again.”
Janet gave a vaguely affirmative
reply. But Horace Juniper-Hallett
did not hear it. His hand was
clutching his mouth, which was open
in a silent yell. Every muscle in
his body was at maximum tension.
Two feet from his head, a pair of
green eyes, seemingly the .size of
dinner plates, were staring at him.
When the first horrifying shock
wore off, Juniper-Hallett was able to
reason that if Janet wanted to call a
full-grown puma a “cat,” she had
every right to do so. But she might
have warned him.
Dolores opened her fanged mouth
and gave a faint snarl. When Juni-
per-Hallett simply lay where he was,
Dolores relaxed.
Lady Bickham-Smith was talking:
“ — and even if your father is a bit
rigid in his ideas, Janet, it was a
crazy thing to do, don’t you think?
You don’t really know anything
about this man — ”
“Mother! I thought we weren’t
going to argue about that — ”
Dolores kept her great green eyes
open with a faint, lingering suspi-
cion, but did not move as Juniper-
Hallett touched her head. He
stroked it. Dolores’ eyelids drooped;
Dolores purred. The sound was like
an egg-beater churning up a bowl-
ful of marbles, but still it was a pur.
Then Juniper-Hallett’s mucous
membrane went into action. He just
stopped a sneeze by pressing a. fin-
ger under his fiose. His nasal pas-
sages filled with colorless liquid. His
eyes itched and watered.
He was allergic to cats, and he’d
been neglecting his injections lately.
And cats evidently included lions,
tigers, leopards, pumas, jaguars,
ounces, servals, ocelots, jaguarundis,
and all the other members of the
tribe.
In an hour, when he was treated
to the sight of the bare ankles of the
two women, moving about prej>ara-
tory to going to bed, he had the
finest case of hay fever in the city of
%Los Angeles, which stretched from
San, Diego to Santa Barbara. And
THE STOLEN DOHMOUSE
2 ?
there was nothing he could do about
it. ,
But, he assured himself, no situa-
tion would ever seem grotesque to
him again.
IV.
Juniper-Hallett awoke after five
or, six hours’ fitful slumber. He
tried to raise his head, bumped it
on the bottom of the mattress, and
realized where he was. It seemed in-
credible to him that he should have
slept at all under those bizarre cir-
cumstances.
But there he was, with a gray wet
dawn coming in through the win-
dows, and Dolores’ head resting
peacefully on his stomach.
After several years, it seemed, of
his lying and silently sniffling, the
women got up and dressed. Janet
said: “I didn’t . . . ymm . . ,
sleep very well.”
“Neither did I. It’s that beast of
yours. I wish you wouldn’t keep
her in here, Janet. She gives me
the wiiliejitters. She kept purring
all night long, and it sounded just
like a man snoring.”
When Lady Bickham-Smith had
departed, Juniper-Hallett rolled out
from under the bed. When he got
to his feet, he threw back his head,
closed his eyes, opened his mouth,
and gave vent to a sneeze that flut-
tered the pages of a magazine on the
table. He looked vastly relieved,
though his eyes were red and watery
and his hair was mussed. “There,”
he said, “I’ve been wadtig to do that
all dight!”
“Was that all you thoug'ht about
last night?”
“Just ab — Do, of course dot!”
“Darling!”
“Sweetheart!”
She stepped back and looked at
him. “Horace, did you snore last
night?” Her tone suggested that she
wished she’d known about this
sooner.
“How should I dow? Have you
got sobe ephedride id your bath-
roob?”
“No, but Pamela Starr-Gilligan
down the hall, may have some.
Why?”
Juniper-Hallett gestured toward
the puma, who was standing with
her forepaws on the window sill,
looking at the rain. “I’b afraid that
wired we have our owd hobe, dear,
it’ll have to be without her.”
“Oh, but Horace, how frightful!
I love Dolores — ”
“Well, let’s dot argue dow. Will
you get be sobe ephedride, old girl,
before I drowd in by owd hay-
fever?”
When she returned with the medi-
cine, she found a thinner-looking
Juniper-Hallett eating another sand-
wich and examining the air condi-
tioning registers. On the floor lay
a lot of engineering drawings, a coil
of rope with a hook at one end, a
flashlight, and a couple of burglari-
ous-looking tools.
“Horace! What on earth — ”
He blew his nose violently and ex-
plained: “I’m trying to figure out
which system would get me to the
lab quicker, the risers or the re-
turns.” He looked at the plans.
“Let’s see. The Stromberg building
has a low- velocity air conditioning
system designed to furnish six air
changes an hour with a maximum
temperature differential of thirty de-
grees centigrade and a trunk line
velocity of three hundred meters per
minute. Ducts are of the all-asbes-
tos Carey type. There are 1,406 out-
let registers and 1,323 return reg-
isters, mumble-mmnhle-mmihle —
Looks like the distance is the same
in either case; but if I take the warm
air side I’ll get toasted when I get
28
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
down near the furnace. So it’ll be
the returns.”
He took his ephedrine and ad-
dressed himself to the return regis-
ter. The grate was locked in place,
but the frame to which it was hinged
was held to the wall by four ordinary
screws. These he took out in a
hurry. He stowed his elaborate ap-
paratus about his person, kissed his
bride, and pushed himself into the
duct head first.
The duct dropped straight for
two feet, then turned horizontally.
The corner was square, and was full
of little curved vanes to guide the
air around. Juniper-Hallett fetched
up against these v/hile his legs were
still in Janet’s room.
He backed out, muttering, got out
his wrecking bar, kissed Janet again,
stuck his upper half into the duct,
and attacked the vanes. They came
loose and plunked to the bottom
wall of the duct one by one. Then
Juniper-Hallett wormed himself
completely into the duct and around
the bend. “Wormed” is no exag-
geration, The duct was a mere
twenty by forty centimeters, and,
thin as Juniper-Hallett was, it took
all his patience and persistence to
get himself around that hellish cor-
ner. Too late he remembered that
he had a third sandwich in an in-
side pocket; he probably had jam all
over the inside of his clothes by
now.
The duct soon enlarged where
others joined it, so that Juniper-Hal-
lett could proceed on hands and
knees. Faint gleams of light came
down the ducts from the registers.
The breeze purred softly past his
neck. The inside of the ducts was
waxy to his touch. He came to an-
other bend, and had to pry loose an-
other set of vanes that blocked his
path. He hoped he wasn’t making
too much noise. But the asbestos
muffled even the sound of the v/rfck-
ing bar.
Then he arrived at deeper black-
ness in the darkness around him; his
right hand met nothing when he put
it down. He jerked back in horror;
in his hurry he’d almost tumbled
dovi^n one of the main I'eturn stacks.
It would have a straight drop of
about a hundred meters.
His viscera crawling, he turned on
his flashlight. He found he’d have
to pry a couple of baffle plates out
of the way to get into the stack.
That took a- bit of straining,
cramped as he was. When it was
done, he stuck his head into the
stack and flashed the light down
against the stack wall below him.
There ought to be a ladder of hand
holds all the way from top to bottom.
But there were no hand holds be-
low him; nor above him, either.
With great difficulty, he got out the
plans and read them by the flash-
light. His underwear was now
clammy with sweat. The plan
showed the hand holds. The plan
was wrong, or the hand holds had
been removed since it was made.
He could not think why the latter
should be.
He took another look, and there
were the hand holds — on the side of
the stack opposite him.
The idea of jumping across the
two-meter gap over the black bole
below him, and catching the hand
holds on the fly monkeywise, made
his scalp crawl. He sat for a min-
ute, listening to the faint, deep, or-
ganlike note of the air rushing down
the stack. Then he knew what he
must do. He unwound the rope
from around his middle, and tossed
the hook on its end across the gap
until it caught on one of the hand
holds. Then he took the rope in
both hands and slid off the baffle
THE STOLEN DORMOUSE
plates. He fetched up sharply
against the other side of the stack.
An irouR later, Juniper-Hallett
arrived at the return-register, open-
ing into the biology room of the
Stroinberg lal)oratories, well below
ground. He was shaking from his
hundred-meter climb down the
stack. Without the plans, it would
have taken him all day to find the
right duct.
He stifled a grunt of disappoint-
ment. The register was high up on
one wall, giving him a good view of
the room. The duct, serving a room
much larger than Janet’s, was thrice
the size of the one leading to hers, so
Juniper-Hallett could move around
ea.sily.
But there was no sign of the body
of a dormouse anywhere.
His watch told him it was eight-
thirty. That was dangerously close
to the hour when the scientists went
to work. But if there was no dor-
mouse, there woidd be no reason for
invading —
A lock clicked and a man entered
the room. He stared at a long, bare
table, and bolted out, slamming the
door. Soon he was back with sev-
eral more. They all shouted at once.
“Ryan’s gone!” “Who was here
last — ” “i saw him on the table — ”
“ — must have stolen — ” “ — the
Crosleys — ” “ — shall we call the
police — “ — the department’ll catch
hell from — ” “Shut up, sir! Let me
think!”
The last was from a man Juniper-
Hallett recognized as Hosea Beverly-
Heil, Stromberg’s chief engineer. He
was a tall, masterful-looking man.
He pressed his fingertips against his
temples and squeezed his eyes shut.
After a while he said: “It’s either
the Crosleys, or the Ayesmies, or the
Hawaiians. The Crosleys, on gen-
eral principles; if we steal something.
that is to say, it obviously has value
for us; wherefore it behooves them
to steal it from us. The Ayesmies,
because Arnold Ryan was a promi-
nent member of the A. S. M. E. back
in the days when it was a legal or-
ganization; that is to say, now that
they are an illegal, secret group, I
mean, clique or . . . uh . . . group,
and have been driven alnfost out of
existence by our good dictator’s vigi-
lant agents — ” Here somebody
snickered. Beverly-Heil frowned at
him, as though everybody didn’t
know that the dictator was a mere
powerless puppet in the hands of
the turbulent aristocracy of the great
companies. “ — our . . . his vigilant
agents, as I was saying, they may
wish the help of one of their former
leaders in saving them from extinc-
tion. The Hawaiians, because they
may suspect that Ryan, who, as is
well known, is part Hawaiian, may
give us their power secret; that is to
say — Well, of the three possibili-
ties, I think the second and last are
too farfetched and melodramatic to
be worth serious consideration; I
mean to say, to merit further pur-
suit along that line. Therefore, by a
simple process of elimination, we
have to conclude that the Crosleys
are the men — that is to say, the most
likely suspects.”
Juniper-Hallett, huddled behind
the grill of the register, began to un-
derstand why Janet had called the
Stromberg dinner “frightful.” Un-
doubtedly, Hosea Beverly-Heil had
made a speech.
The chief engineer now turned on
a squarely built, blond man with
monocle stuck in a red face. “As for
your suggestion, D uke-Holmq uist ,
by which I mean your proposal that
we call the police, I may say that I
consider it about the silliest thing I
ever heard, sir; that is, it’s utterly
so
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
absurd. I mean by that, that to do
so, would involve the admission that
we had stolen, I mean expropriated,
the body of Arnold Ryan in the first
place.”
Horace Juniper-Hallett was lean-
ing against the grill, straining his
ears. He was sure that his com-
pany hadn’t stolen the dormouse.
Why should the Old Man send him
out to hunt for the body at a time
when he must have known of its
whereabouts and of plans for its
seizure.!^
And then the grill, which was not
locked in place at all but was merely
held upright by friction, came loose
and fell out and down on its hinges
with a loud clang. Juniper-Hallett
caught the register frame just in
time to keep himself from tumbling
into the laboratory.
For a few seconds, Juniper-Hallett
looked at the engineers, and the en-
gineers looked at him. His face
started to take on a friendly smile,
until he noticed that the couple
nearest him started moving toward
him with grim looks. Alen had been
beaten to death with duelling sticks
when caught in the enemy’s —
Juniper-Hallett tumbled backward
and raced down the duct on hands
and knees. Behind him the techni-
cians broke into angry shouts. The
light was dimmed as the head and
shoulders of one of them was thrust
into the opening.
Juniper-Hallett thought of trying
to lose his pursuer in the maze of
ducts. But he’d undoubtedly lose
himself much sooner; and then
they’d post somebody at each of the
fourteen hundred registers and wait
for him to come out —
The man was gaining on him, from
the sound. The laboratory was con-
nected to the main air conditioning
system; there were smaller special
temperature rooms, with a little cir-
culating system of their own. The
duct that Juniper-Hallett was in
turned up a little way on, to reach
the basement level where it joined
the main trunks from the air con-
ditioner. He had come down the
one-story drop by his rope. It was
still there; he went up it hand over
hand. Just as he reached the top,
it went taut below him; the other
man was coming up, too.
Juniper-Hallett tried to pry the
hook out, but it had worked itself
firmly into the asbestos, and the
weight of his pursuer kept it there.
He took out his flashlight and
wrecking bar. A businessman could
hit another businessman, or a white-
collar, with a duelling stick. A
whitecollar could hit another white-
collar or a businessman with a
duelling stick. A whitecollar could
use his fists on another whitecollar,
but for a businessman to either strike
with or be struck by a fist was
a violation of the convention. An
engineer ranked above a white
collar and below a businessman; he
could not be promoted to a business-
man, executive, or entrepreneur,
however. He could be struck with
— Juniper-Hallett had forgotten. But
it was utterly certain that hitting a
man with a wrecking bar was a hor-
rible violation of the code. Maylie
an entrepreneur could hit a prole-
tarian with such an implement, but
even that —
The man’s head appeared over the
edge of the bend. As Juniper-Hal-
lett turned the flashlight on, the
man’s monocle gleamed balefully
back at him. It was the thick-set
fellow addressed as Dnke-Hohn-
quist.
Juniper-Hallett hit him over the
head with the wrecking bar; gently,
not wishing to do him serious dam-
age.
THE STOLEN DORMOUSE
“Oucli!” said Duke-Holmquist.
He slipped back a little; then pulled
himself up again.
Jiiniper-Hallett hit him again, a
little harder.
“Uh,” grunted the man. “Damn
it, sir, stop that!” He reached a
large red hand out for Juniper-Hal-
Ictt.
Juniper-Hallett hit him again,
quite a bit harder. The monocle
popped out of the large red face, and
the face itself disappeared. Junipei*-
Hallett heard him strike the bottom
of the duct. He worked his hook
loose aud pulled the rope up.
He could walk almost erect along
the main duct. He hiked along, re-
ferring to his plan now and then, un-
til he found the stack down which
he had come. He stumbled over the
vanes he had knocked loose before.
He started to climb. By the time
he had ascended ten meters, he had
discarded the wrecking bar and the
other implement, a thing like a large
can opener. By the time he had
gone twenty, he had stuffed his pa-
pers into his pants pocket and
dropped his coat. He would have
discarded the flashlight and the rope,
except that he might need them yet.
At thirty meters, he was sure he
had climbed a hundred, and was
playing the flashlight up and down
the shaft to make sure he hadn’t al-
ready passed the takeoff with the
bent baffle plate. The ephedrine
made his heart pound even more
than it would have, anyway.
By and by, he worked out a sys-
tem of looping his rope into a kind
of sling, slipping the hook over one
of the hand holds, and resting be-
tween climbs. The climbs grew
shorter and shorter. He’d never
make it. Anyone but a thin, wiry
young man in first-rate condition
would have collapsed long before,
But he kept on; ten rungs; rest;
ten rungs; rest.
The ten rungs became nine, eight,
seven— Pretty soon he’d give up
and crawl out the first duct he
passed. It might land him almost
anywhere — but how could he get
into and through it, without his
burglary tools?
He’d stop the next time be rested;
just hang there in black space, until
the Strombergs lowered a rope for
him, from above.
There was the bent baffle! Feel-
ing ashamed of his own weakness,
Juniper-Hallett hurried up to it.
How to get across the two meters of
empty space? He climbed ten ex-
tra rungs, hooked the hook over a
hand hold, climbed back down, took
the rope in his hands, and kicked
out, swinging himself pendulumwise
across the stack. He caught the
baffle all right and wormed his way
into the duct. He found he would
have to leave his rope behind. He
said to hell with it, and squirmed
out through the duct leading to
Janet’s room.
She was there alone. She squeaked
with concern as Juniper-Hallett
poured himself out of the register
and collapsed on the rug. He had
sweated off five of his meager sixty
kilos, and looked it. She said, “Oh,
darling!” and gathered him up. Do-
lores, not yet altogether used to
Juniper-Hallett, slid under the bed
again.
With his little remaining strength,
he tottered back to the register and
began putting the frame of the grill
back in place. A knock sounded.
Juniper-Hallett looked up and mum-
bled: “S’pose I could go back and
get my rope — don’t know how- — and
hang out the v/indow — ”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort!”
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
Janet bowled him over and rolled
him under the bed.
The visitor was a strapping young
Stromberg guardsman. He ex-
plained: “Those fool engineers —
begging my lady’s pardon — took
half an hour getting Duke-Holm-
quist out of the flues before they
thought to tell us. But we’ll catch
the marauder; isolate the main stacks
and clean them and their branches
out one at a time — what’s that.'*”
He bent over and examined the reg-
ister. “Somebody’s been taking the
screws out of this, and he didn’t put
them all the way back in. The man
hasn’t come out through your room,
has he, my lady.!*”
“No,” said Janet, “But, then, I
was out until a few minutes ago.”
“Hm-m-m.” The guardsman re-
moved the register frame and stuck
his flashlight inside the duct. “The
vanes have all been knocked out of
this bend. Somebody’s been through
here all right. Mind if I search your
room, my lady?”
“No. But please don’t muss up
my things any more than you have
to.”
The guardsman went through the
closets and the bureau drawers.
Then he approached the bed.
Janet’s heart was in her mouth. Be-
ing a sensible girl, she knew that her
husband in his present condition,
had not the ghost of a chance of
throttling or stunning the man be-
fore he could give the alarm. And
there was nothing in sight to use as
a club —
The guardsman bent over and
pulled up the bedspread. Something
hissed at him; he jumped back, drop-
ping his flashlight. “Wow!” he said.
“I’d forgotten about your lioness,
my lady. I guess the fellow sneaked
out through your room while you
were out of it.” He touched his
forehead and departed.
Janet looked under the bed in her
turn. “Horace,” she said.
A snore answered her.
TO BE CONTINUED.
The robot was strictly logical, reasoning, as
only its perfect machine mind could, from ob-
served facts to inevitable — if wacky — coitclusian.
Illustrated by Rey Isip
Gregory Powell spaced his he pulled the end his brown mus-
words for emphasis, “One week ago, tache.
Donovan and t put you together.” It was quiet in the officer’s room
His brows furrowed doubtfully and of Solar Station #5 — except for the
REIISOIl
By Isaac Asimov
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
34 *
soft purring of the mighty Beam
Director somewheKj; far below.
Ifobot QT I sat immovable. The
burnished plates of his body gleamed
in the Luxites and the glowing red
of the photoelectric cells that were
hi.s eyes, were fixed steadily upon
the Earthman at the other side of
the table.
Powell repressed a sudden attack
of nerves. These robots possessed
peculiar brains. The positronic
])a ths impressed upon them were cal-
cidated in advance, and all possible
permutations that might lead to an-
ger or hate were rigidly excluded.
And yet— the QT models were the
first of their kind, and this was the
first of the QT’s. Anything could
happen.
Finally, the robot spoke. His
voice carried the cold timbre insep-
arable from a metallic diaphragm,
“Do you realize the seriousness of
such a statement, Powell?”
“Something made you, Cutie,”
pointed out Powell. “You admit
yourself that your memory seems to
spring full-grown from an absolute
blankness of a week ago. I’m giv-
ing you the explanation. Donovan
and I put you together from the
parts shipped us.”
Cutie gazed upon his long, supple
fingers in an oddly human attitude
of mystification, “It strikes me that
there should be a more satisfactory
explanation than that. For yoii to
make me seems improbable.”
The Earthman laughed quite sud-
denly, “In Earth’s name, why?”
“Call it intuition. That’s all it is
so far. But I intend to reason it
out, though. A chain of valid rea-
soning can end only with the deter-
mination of truth; and I’ll stick till
I get there.”
Powell stood Op and seated him-
self at the table’s edge next the
robot. He felt a sudden strong sym-
pathy for this strange machine. It
was' not at all like the ordinary ro-
bot, attending to his specialized task
at the station with the intensity of a
deeply ingrooved positronic path.
He placed a hand upon Cutie’s
steel shoulder and the metal was cold
and hard to the touch.
“Cutie,” he said, “I’m going to
try to explain something to you.
You’re the first robot who’s' ever ex-
hibited curiosity as to his own ex-
istence — and I think the first that’s
really intelligent enough to under-
stand the world outside. Here, come
with me.”
The robot rose erect smoothly
and his thickly sponge-rubber soled
feet made no noise as he followed
Powell. The Earthman touched a
button and a square section of the
wall flicked aside. The thick, clear
glass revealed space — star-speckled.
“I’ve seen that in the observa;ti()n
ports in the engine ^room,” said
Cutie.
“I know,” said Pow^ell. “What
do you think it is?”
“Exactly what it seems — a black
material just beyond this glass that
is spotted with little gleaming dots.
I know that our director sends out
beams to some of these dots, always
to the same ones — and also that
these dots shift and that the beams
shift with them. That is all.”
“Good! Now I want you to listen
carefully. The blackness is empti-
ness — vast emptiness stretching out
infinitely. The little, gleaming dots
are huge masses of energy-filled mat-
ter. They are globes, some of them
millions of miles in diameter — and
for comparison, this station is only
one mile across. They seem so tiny
because they are incredibly far off.
“The dots to which our energy
beams are directed, are nearer and
much smaller. They are cold and
REASON
35
hard and human beings like myself
live upon their surfaces — many bil-
lions of them. It is from one of
these worlds that Donovan and I
come. Our beams feed these worlds
energy drawn from one of those huge
incandescent globes that happens to
be near us. We call that globe the
Sun and it is on the other side of
the station where you can’t see it.”
Cutie remained motionless before
the port, like a steel statue. His
head did not turn as he spoke,
“Which particular dot of light do
you claim to come from?” .
Powell searched, “There it is. The
very bright one in the corner. We
call it Earth.” He grinned, “Good
old Earth. There are five billions
of us there, Cutie^ — and in about two
weeks I’ll be back there with them.”
And then, surprisingly enough,
Cutie hummed abstractedly. There
was no tune to it, but it possessed a
curious twanging quality as of
plucked strings. It ceased as sud-
denly as it had begun, “But where
do I come in, Powell? You haven’t
explained my existence.”
“Ihe rest is simple. When these
stations were first established to feed
solar energy to the planets, they
were run by humans. However, the
heat, the hard solar radiations, and
the electron storms made the post a
difficult one. Robots were developed
to j-eplace human labor and now only
two human executives are required
for each station. We are trying to
replace even those, and that’s where
you come in. You’re the highest
type robot ever developed and if you
show the ability to run this station
independently, no human need ever
come here again except to bring
parts for repairs.”
His hand went up and the metal
visi-lid snapped back into place.
Powell returned to the table and
AST— 3
polished an apple upon his sleeve
before biting into it.
The red glow of the robot’s eyes
held him, “Do you expect me,” said
Cutie slowly, “to believe any such
complicated, implausible hypothesis
as you have just outlined? What
do you take me for?”
Powell sputtered apple fragments
onto the table and turned red,
“Why, damn you, it wasn’t a hy-
pothesis. Those were facts.”
Cutie sounded grim, “Globes of
energy millions of miles across!
Worlds with five billion humans on
them! Infinite emptiness! Sorry,
Powell, but I don’t believe it. I’ll
puzzle this thing out for myself.
Good-by.”
He turned and stalked out of the
room. He brushed past Michael
Donovan on the threshold with a
grave nod and passed down the cor-
ridor, oblivious to the astounded
stare that followed him.
Mike Donovan rumpled his red
hair and shot an annoyed glance at
Powell, “What was tha^; walking
junk yard talking about? What
doesn’t he believe?”
The other dragged at his mus-
tache bitterly. “He’s a skeptic,”
was the bitter response. “He
doesn’t believe we made him or that
Earth exists or space or stars.”'
“Sizzling Saturn, we’ve got a lu-
natic robot on our hands.”
“He says he’s going to figure it all
out for himself.”
“Well, now,” said Donovan
sweetly, “I do hope he’ll condescend
to explain it all to me after he’s
puzzled everything out.” Then,
with sudden rage, “Listen! If that
metal mess gives me any lip like
that. I’ll knock that chromium cra-
nium right off its torso.”
He seated himself with a jerk and
drew a paper-backed mystery novel
out of his inner jacket pocket, “That
36
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
robot gives me the willies anyway —
too damned inquisitive!”
Mike Donovan growled from be-
hind a huge lettuce-and-tomato
sandwich as Cutie knocked gently
and entered.
“Is Powell here?”
Donovan’s voice was muffled, with
pauses for mastication, “He’s gather-
ing data on electronic stream func-
tions. We’re heading for a storm,
looks like.”
Gregory Powell entered as he
spoke, eyes on the graphed paper in
his hands and dropped into a chair.
He spread the sheets jmt befoi'e him
and begaai scribbling calculations.
Donovan stared over his shoulder,
crunching lettuce and dribbling
bread crumbs. Cutie waited silently.
Powell looked up, “The Zeta Po-
tential is rising, but slowly. Just
the same, the Stream Functions are
erratic and I don’t know what to ex-
pect. Oh, hello, Cutie. I thought
you were supervising the installa-
tion of the new drive bar.”
“It’s done,” said the robot,
quietly, “and so I’ve come to have a
talk with the two of you.”
“Oh!” Powell looked uncomfort-
able. “Well, sit down. No, not that
chair. One of the legs is weak and
you’re no lightweight.”
The robot did so and said placidly,
“I have come to a decision.”
Donovan glowered and put the
remnants of his sandwich aside. “If
it’s on any of that screwy — ”
The other motioned impatiently
for silence, “Go ahead, Cutie. We’re
listening.”
“I have spent these last two days
in concentrated introspection,” said
Cutie, “and the results have been
most interesting. I began at the one
sure assumption I felt permitted to
make. I, myself, exist, because I
think—”
Powell groaned, “Oh, Jupiter, a
robot Descartes!”
“Who’s Descartes?” demanded
Donovan. “Listen, do we have to
sit here and listen to this metal
maniac — ”
“Keep quiet, Mike!”
Cutie continued imperturbably,
“And the question that immediately
ai-ose was: Just what is the cause of
my existence?”
Powell’s jaw set lumpily. “You’re
being foolish. I told you already
that we made you.”
“And if you don’t believe us,”
added Donovan, “we’ll gladly take
you apart!”
The robot spread his strong hands
in a deprecatory gesture, “I accept
nothing on authority. A hypothe-
sis must be backed by reason, or else
it is worthless — and it goes against
all the dictates of logic to suppose
that you made me.”
Powell dropped a restraining arm
upon Donovan’s suddenly bunched
fist. “Just why do you say that?”
Cutie laughed. It was a very in-
human laugh — the most machinelike
utterance he had yet given vent to.
It was sharp and explosive, as regu-
lar as a metronome and as unin-
flected.
“Look at you,” he said finally. “I
say this in no spirit of contempt, but
look at you! 'The materiaPyou are
made of is soft and flabby, lacking
endurance and .strength, depending
for energy upon the inefficient oxida-
tion of organic material — like that.”
He pointed a- disapproving finger at
what remained of Donovan’s sand-
wich. “Periodically you pass into a
coma and the least variation in tem-
perature, air pressure, humidity, or
radiation intensity impairs your effi-
ciency. You are makeshift.
“I, on the other hand, am a fin-
ished product. I absorb electrical
energy directly and utilize it with
REASON
87
almost one hundred percent effi-
ciency. 1 am composed of strong
metal, am continuously conscious,
and can stand extremes of environ-
ment easily. These are facts which,
with the self-evident proposition
that no being can create another be-
ing superior to itself, smashes your
silly hypothesis to nothing.”
Donovan’s muttered curses rose
into intelJigibility as he sprang to his
feet, rusty eyebrows drawn low. “All
right, you son of a. hunk of iron ore,
if we didn’t m,ake you, who did?”
Cutie nodded gravely. “Very
good, Donovan. That was indeed
the next question. Evidently my
creator must be more powerful than
myself an«] so there was only one
possibility.”
The Earthmen looked blank and
Cutie continued, “What is the cen-
ter of activities here in the station?
What do we all serve? What ab-
sorbs all our attention?” He waited
expectantly.
Donovan turned a startled look
upon his companion. “I’ll bet this
tin-plated screwball is talking about
the Energy Converter itself.”
“Is that right, Cutie?” grinned
Powell,
“I am talking about the Master,”
came the cold, sharp answer.
It was the signal for a roar of
laughter from Donovan, and Powell
himself dissolved into a half-sup-
pressed giggle.-
Cutie had risen to his feet and his
gleaming eyes passed from one
Earthman to the other. “It is so
just the same and I don’t wonder
that you refuse to believe. You two
are not long to stay here, I’m, sure,
Powell himself said that in early
days only men served the Master;
that there followed robots for the
routine work; and, fi.nally, myself for
the executive la.bor. Tlie facts are
no doubt true, but the explanation
entirely illogical. Do you wa,nt the
truth behind it all?”
“Go ahead, Cutie. You’re amus-
ing.”
“The Master created lium.ans first
as the lowest type, most easily
.formed. Gradually, he replaced
them by robots, the nexk higher
step, and finally he created in.e, to
take the pla,ce of the last humans.
From now on, I serve the Master.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,”
said Powell sharply. “You’ll follow
our orders and keep quiet, until
we’re satisfi,ed that you can ran the
Converter. Get that! The Con-
verter — not the Ma,ster. If you
don’t satisfy us, you will be dis-
mantled. And now — if you donT
mind — you ca,n leave. And take this
data with you and file it properly.”
Cutie accepted the graphs handed
him and left without another word.
Donovan Iea.ned back heavily in his
chair and shoved thick fingers
through his hair.
“There’s going to be trouble with
that robot. He’s pure nuts!”
The drowsy h:um of the Con-
verter is louder in the control room
and mixed with it is the chuckle of
the Geiger Counters and the erratic
buzzing of half a, dozen little signal
lights.
Donovan withdrew his eye from
the telescope and flashed the Luxites
on. “The beam from station #4
caught Mars on schedule. We can
break ours now.”
Powell nodded abstractedly.
“Cutie’s down in the engine room.
I’ll flash the signal and he can take
care of it. Look, Mike, what do you
think of these figures.”
The other cocked an eye at them
and whistled. “Boy, that’s what I
call gamma-ray intensity. Old So!
is feeling his oats, all right.”
S8
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
"Yeah,” was the sour response,
“and we’re in a bad position for an
electron storm, too. Our Earth
beam is right in the probable path.”
He shoved his chair away from the
table pettishly. “Nuts! If it would
only hold off till relief got here, but
that’s ten days oft*. Say, Mike, go
on down and keep an eye on Cutie,
will you.!'”
“O. K. Throw me some of those
almonds.” He snatched at the bag
thrown him and headed for the ele-
vator.
It slid smoothly downward and
opened onto a narrow catwalk in the
huge engine room. Donovan leaned
over the railing and looked down.
The huge generators were in motion
and from the L-tubes came the low-
pitched whir that pervaded the en-
tire station.
He could make out Cutie’s large,
gleaming figure at the Martian L-
tube, watching closely as a team of
robots worked in close-knit unison.
There was a sudden sparking light,
a sharp crackle of discord in the even
whir of the Converter.
The beam to Mars had been
broken!
And then Donovan stiffened. The
robots, dwarfed by the mighty L-
tube, lined up before it, heads bowed
at a stiff angle, while Cutie walked
up and down the line slowly. Fif-
teen seconds passed, and then, with
a clank heard above the clamorous
purring all about, they fell to their
knees.
Donovan squawked and raced
down the narrow staircase. He came
charging down upon them, complex-
ion matching his hair and clenched
fists beating the air furiously.
“What the devil is this, you brain-
less lumps.!* Come on! Get busy
with that L-tube! If you don’t have
it apart, cleaned, and together again
before the day is out. I’ll coagulate
your brains with alternating cur-
rent.”
Not a robot moved!
Even Cutie at the far end — the
only one on his feet — remained si-
lent, eyes fixed upon the gloomy re-
cesses of the vast machine before
him.
Donovan shoved hard against the
nearest robot.
“Stand up!” he roared.
Slowly, the robot obeyed. His
photoelectric eyes focused reproach-
fully upon the Earthman.
“There is no Master but the Mas-
ter,” he said, “and QT 1 is his
prophet.”
“Huh.!*” Donovan became aware
of twenty pairs of mechanical eyes
fixed upon him and twenty stiff-
timbred voices declaiming solemnly:
“There is no Master but the Mas-
ter and QT 1 is his prophet!”
“I’m afraid,” put in Cutie himself
at this point, “that my friends obey
a higher one than you, now.”
“The hell they do! You get out
of here. I’ll settle with you later
and with these animated gadgets
right now.”
Cutie shook his heavy head
slowly. “I’m sorry, but you don’t
understand. These are robots — and
that means they are reasoning be-
ings. They recognize the Master,
now that I have preached Truth to
them. All the robots do. They call
me the prophet.” His head drooped.
“I am unworthy — but perhaps — ”
Donovan located his breath and
put it to use. “Is that so? Now
isn’t that nice? Now, isn’t that just
fine? Just let me tell you something,
my brass baboon. There isn’t any
Master and there isn’t any prophet
and there isn’t any question as to
who’s giving the orders. Under-
stand?” His voice shot to a roar.
“Now, get out!”
“I obey only the Master.”
REASON
39
“Damn the Master!” Donovan
spat at the L-tube. “That for the
Master! Do as I say!”
Cntie said nothing, nor did any
other robot, but Donovan became
aware of a sudden heightening of
tension. The cold, staring eyes deep-
ened their crimson, and Cntie
.seemed stiff er than ever.
“Sacrilege,” he whispered — voice
metallic with emotion.
Donovan felt the first sudden
touch of fear as Cutie approached.
A robot could not feel anger — but
Cutie’s eyes were unreadable.
“I am sorry, Donovan,” said the
robot, “but you can no longer stay
here after this. Henceforth Powell
and you are barred from the control
room and the engine room.”
His hand gestured quietly and in
a moment two robots had pinned
Donovan’s arms to his sides.
Donovan had time for one star-
tled gasp as he felt . himself lifted
from the floor and carried up the
stairs at a pace rather better than a
canter.
Gregory Powell raced up and
down the officer’s room, fists tightly
balled. He cast a look of furious
frustration at the closed door and
scowled bitterly at Donovan.
“Why the devil did you have to
spit at the L-tube.^”
Mike Donovan, sunk deep in his
chair, slammed at its arm savagely.
“What did you expect me to do with
that electrified scarecrow.^' I’m not
going to knuckle under to any do-
jigger 1 put together myself.”
“No,” came back sourly, “but here
you are in the officer’s room with
two robots standing guard at the
door. That’s not knuckling under,
is it.?*”
Donovan snarled. “Wait till we
get back to Base. Someone’s going
to pay for this. Those robots are
guaranteed to be subordinate.”
“So they are — to their blasted
Master. They’ll obey, all right — but
not necessarily us. Say, do you
know what’s going to happen to us
when we get back to Base.” He
stopped before Donovan’s chair and
stared savagely at him.”
“What.?”
“Oh, nothing! Just the Mercury
Mines or maybe Ceres Penitentiary.
That’s all! That’s all!”
“What are you talking about ?”
“The electron storm that’s coming
up. Do you know it’s heading
straight dead center across the Earth
beam.? I had just figured that out
when that robot dragged me out of
my chair.”
Donovan was suddenly pale.
“Good heavens!”
“And do you know what’s going
to happen to the beam — because the
storm will be a lulu. It’s going to
jump like a flea with the itch. With
only Cutie at the controls, it’s going
to go out of focus and if it does.
Heaven help Earth — and us!”
Donovan was wrenching at the
door wildly, when Powell was only
half through. The door opened, and
the Earthman shot through to come
up hard against an immovable steel
arm.
The robot stared abstractedly at
the panting, struggling Earthman.
“The Prophet orders you to remain.
Please do!” His arm shoved, Dono-
van reeled backward, and as he did
so, Cutie turned the corner at the
far end of the corridor. He motioned
the guardian robots away, entered
the officer’s room and closed the door
gently.
Donovan whirled on Cutie in
breathless indignation. “This has
gone far enough. You’re going to
pay for this farce.”
“Please, don’t be annoyed,” re-
plied the robot mildly. “It was
40
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
bound to come eventually, anyway.
You see, you two have lost your
function.”
“I beg your pardon,” Powell drew
himself up stiffly. “Just what do
you mean, we’ve lost our function.^”
“Until I was created,” answered
Cutie, “you tended the Master.
That privilege is mine now and your
only reason for existence has van-
ished. Isn’t that obvious?”
“Not quite,” replied Powell bit-
terly, “but what do you expect us
to do now?”
Cutie did not answer immediately.
He remained silent, as if in thought,
and then one ann shot out and
draped itself about Powell’s shoul-
der. The other grasped Donovan’s
wrist and drew him closer.
“I like you two. You’re inferior
creatures, with poor unreasoning
faculties, but I really feel a sort of
affection for you. You have served
the Master well, and he will reward
you for that. Now that your service
is over, you will probably not exist
much longer, but as long as you do,
you shall be provided food, clothing
and shelter, so long as you stay out
of the control room and the engine
room.”
“He’s pensioning us off, Greg!”
yelled Donovan. “Do something
about it. It’s humiliating!”
“Look here, Cutie, we can’t stand
for this. We’re the bosses. This
station is only a creation of human
beings like me — human beings that
live on Earth and other planets.
This is only an energy relay. You’re
only — Aw, nuts!”
Cutie shook his head gravely.
“This amounts to an obsession.
Why should you insist so on an ab-
solutely false view of life? Admitted
that non-robots lack the reasoning
faculty, there is still the problem
of—”
His voice died into reflective si-
lence, and Donovan said with vyhis-
Iiered intensity, “If you only had a
flesh-and-blood face, I would break
it in.”
Powell’s fingers were in his mus-
tache and his eyes were slitted.
“Listen, Cutie, if there is ijo such
thing as Earth, how do you account
for what you see through a tele-
scope?”
“Pardon me!”
The Earthman smiled. “I’ve got
you, eh? You’ve made quite a few
telescopic observations since being
put together, Cutie. Have you no-
ticed that several of those specks of
light outside become disks when so
viewed?”
“Oh, that! Why, certainly. It is
simple magnification — ^for the pur-
pose of more exact aiming of the
beam.”
“Why aren’t the stars equally
magnified then?”
“You mean ‘the other dots. Well,
no beams go to them so no magnifi-
cation is necessary. Really, Powell,
even you ought to be able to figure
these things out.”
Powell stared bleakly upward.
“But you see more stars through a
telescope. Where do they come
from? Jumping Jupiter, where do
they come from?”
Cutie was annoyed. “Listen, Pow-
ell, do you think I’m going to waste
my time trying to pin physical inter-
pretations upon every optical illu-
sion of our instruments? Since when
is the evidence of our senses any
match for the clear light of rigid
reason?”
“Look,” clamored Donovan, sud-
denly, writhing out from under
Cutie’s friendly, but fnetal-heavy
arm, “let’s get to the nub of the
thing. Why the beams at all?
We’re giving you a good, logical ex-
planation. Can you do better?”
REASON
41
“The beams,” was the stiff reply,
“arc put out by the Master for his
own piiiposes. There are some
things” — he raised his eyes devoutly
upward — “that are not to be probed
into by us. In this matter, I seek
only to serve and not to question.”
Powell sat down slowly and buried
his face in shaking hands. “Get out
of here, Cutie. Get out and let me
think.”
“I’ll send you food,” said Cutie
agreeably.
A groan was the only answer and
the robot left.
“Greg,” was Donovan’s huskily
whispered obseiwation, “this calls for
strategy. We’ve got to get him
when he isn’t expecting it and short-
circuit him. Concentrated nitric-
acid in his joints — ”
“Don’t be a dope, Mike. Do you
suppose he’s going to let us get near
him with acid in our hands — or that
the other robots wouldn’t take us
apart, if we did manage to get away
with it. We’ve got to talk to him,
I tell you. We’ve got to argue him
into letting us back into the control
room inside of forty-eight hours or
our goose is broiled tO' a crisp.”
He rocked back and forth ■ in an
agony of impotence. “Who the heck"
wants to argue with a robot? It’s
. . . it’s—”
“Mortifying,” finished Donovan.
“Worse!”
“Say!” Donovan laughed sud-
denly. “Why argue? Let’s show
him! Let’s build us another robot
right before his eyes. He’ll hawe to
eat his words then.”
A slowly widening smile appeared
on Powell’s face.
Donovan continued, “And think
of that screwball’s face when he sees
us do it!”
The interplanetary law forbidding
the existence of intelligent robots
upon the inhabited planets, while
sociologically necessary, places upon
the officers of the Solar stations a
burden — and not a light one. Be-
cause of that particular law, robots
must be sent to the station in parts
and there put together — which is a
grievous and complicated task.
Powell and Donovan were never
so aware of that fact as upon that
particular day when, in the assembly
room, they undertook to create a
robot under the watchful eyes of
QT 1, Prophet of the Master.
The robot in question, a simple
MC mode], lay upon the table, al-
most complete. Three hours work
left only the head undone, and Pow-
ell paused to swab his forehead and
glance uncertainly at Cutie.
The glance was not a reassuring
one. For three hours, Cutie bad sat,
speechless and motionless, and his
face, inexpressive at all times, was
now absolutely unreadable.
Powell groaned. “Let’s get the
brain in now, Mike!”
Donovan uncapped the tightly
sealed container and from, the oil
bath within he withdrew a second
cube. Opening this in turn, he re-
moved a globe from its sponge-rub-
ber casing.
He handled it gingerly, for it was
the most complicated mechanism
ever created by man. Inside the
thin platinum-plated “skin” of the
globe was a positron ic brain, in
whose delicately unstable structure
were inforced calculated neuronic
paths, which imbued each robot with
what amounted to a pre-natal educa-
tion.
It fitted snugly into the cavity in
the skull of the robot on the table.
Blue metal closed over it and was
welded tightly by the tiny atomic
flare. Photoelectric eyes were at-
tached carefully, screwed tightly into
place and covered by. thin, tra.nspar-
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
CDt sheets of steel-hard plastic.
The robot awaited only the vital-
izing flash of high-voltage electricity,
and Powell paused with his hand on
the switch.
“Now watch this, Cutie. Watch
this carefully.”
The switch rammed home and
there was a crackling hum. The two
Earthmen bent anxiously over their
creation.
There was vague motion only at
the outset— a twitching of the joints.
The head lifted, elbows propped it
up, and the MC model swung clum-
sily off the table. Its footing was
unsteady and twice abortive grating
sounds were all it could do in the
direction of speech.
Finally, its voice, uncertain and
hesitant, took form. “I would like
to start work. Where must I go?”
Donovan sprang to the door.
“Down these stairs,” he said.
“You’ll be told what to do.”
The MC model was gone and the
two Earthmen were alone with the
still unmoving Cutie.
“Well,” said Powell, grinning,
"no'W do yon believe that we made
you.”
Ciitie’s answer was curt and final.
“No!” he said.
Powell’s grin froze and then re-
laxed slowly. Donovan’s mouth
dropped open and remained so.
“You see,” continued Cutie,
easily, “you have merely put to-
gether parts already made. You did
it remarkably well — instinct, I sup-
pose — but you didn’t really create
the robot. The parts were created
by the Master.”
“Listen,” gasped Donovan
lioarsely, “those parts were manu-
factured back on Earth and sent
here.”
“Well, well,” replied Cutie sooth-
ingly, “we won’t argue.”
“No, T mean, it.” The Earthman
sprang forward and grasped the ro-
bot’s metal arm. “If you were to
read the books in the library, they
could explain it so that there could
be no possible doubt.”
“The books? I’ve read them — all
of them! They’re most ingenious.”
Powell broke in suddenly. “If
you’ve read them, what else is there
to say? You can’t dispute their evi-
dence. You just can’t!”
There was pity in Cutie’s voice.
“Please, Powell, I certainly don’t
consider them a valid source of in-
formation. They, too, were created
by the Master — and were meant for
you, not for me.”
“How do you make that out?”
demanded Powell.
“Because I, a reasoning being, am
capable of deducing Truth from a
p^'iori Causes. You, being intelli-
gent, but unreasoning, need an ex-
planation of existence supplied to
you, and this the Master did. That
he supplied you with these laugh-
able ideas of far-off worlds and
people is, no doubt, for the best.
Your minds are probably too
coarsely grained for absolute Truth.
However, since it is the Master’s will
that you believe your books, I won’t
argue with you any more.”
As he left, he turned and said in
a kindly tone, “But don’t feel badly.
In the Master’s scheme of things
there is room for all. You poor hu-
mans have your place and though it
is humble, you will be rewarded if
you fill it well.”
He departed with a beautific air
suiting the Prophet of the Master
and the two humans avoided each
other’s eyes.
Finally Powell spoke with an ef-
fort. “Let’s go to bed, Mike. I
give up.”
REASON
4S
Donovan said in a hushed voice,
“Say, Greg, you don’t suppose he’s
right about all this, do you? He
sounds so confident that I — ”
Powell whirled on him. “Don’t
be a fool. You’ll find out whether
Earth exists when relief gets here
next week and we have to go back to
face the music.’’
“Then, for the love of Jupiter*,
we’ve got to do something.” Dono-
van was half in tears. “He doesn’t
believe us, or the books, or his eyes.”
“No,” said Powell bitterly, “he’s
a reasoning robot — damn it. He be-
lieves only reason, and there’s one
trouble with that — ” Plis voice
trailed away.
“What’s that?” prompted Dono-
van.
“You can prove anything you
want by coldly logical reason — if you
pick the proper postulates. We have
ours and Cutie has his.”
“Then let’s get at those postulates
in a hurry. The storm’s due tomor-
row.”
Powell sighed wearily. “That’s
where everything falls down. Pos-
tulates are based on assumption and
adhered to by faith. Nothing in the
Universe can shake them. I’m going
to bed.”
“Oh, hell! I can’t sleep!”
“Neither can I! But I migkt as
well try — as a matter of principle.”
Twelve hours later, sleep was
still just that — a matter of principle,
unattainable in practice.
The storm had arrived ahead of
schedule, and Donovan’s florid face
drained of blood as he pointed a
shaking finger. Powell, stubble-
jawed and dry-lipped, stared out the
port and pulled desperately at his
mustache.
Under other circumstances, it
might have been a beautiful sight.
The stream of high-speed electrons
impinging upon the energy beam
fluoresced into ultra-spicules of in-
tense light. The beam stretched out
into shrinking nothingness, a-glitter
with dancing, shining motes.
The shaft of energy was steady,
but the two Earthmen knew the
value of naked-eyed appearances.
Deviations in arc of a hundredth of
a milli-second — invisible to the eye
— were enough to send the beam
wildly out of focus — enough to blast
hundreds of square miles of Earth
into incandescent ruin.
And a robot, unconcerned with
beam, focus, or Earth, or anything
but his Master was at the controls.
Hours passed. The Earthmen
44
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
watched in hypnotized silence. And
then the darting dotlets of light
dimmed and went out. The storm
had ended.
, Powell’s voice was flat. “It’s
I’’
over!
Donovan had fallen into a trou-
• bled slumber and Powell’s weary
eyes rested upon him enviously.
The signal-flash glared over and
over again, but the Earthman paid
no attention. It was all unimpor-
tant! All! Perhaps Cutie was right
— and he was only an inferior be-
ing with a made-to-ordef memory
and a life that had outlived its pur-
pose.
He wished he were!
Cutie was standing before him.
“You didn’t answer the flash, so I
walked in.’’ His voice was low.
“You don’t look at all well, and I’m
■ afraid your term of existence is
drawing to an end. Still, would you
like to see some of the readings re-
corded today.?”
Dimly, Powell was aware that the
robot was making a friendly gesture,
perhaps to quiet some lingering re-
morse in forcibly replacing the hu-
mans at the controls of the station.
He accepted the sheets held out to
him and gazed at them iinseeingly.
Cutie seemed pleased. “Of course,
it is a great privilege to serve the
Master. You mustn’t feel too badly
about my having replaced you.”
Powell grunted and shifted from
one sheet to the other mechanically
until his blurred sight focused upon
a thin red line that wobbled its way
across ruled paper.
He- stared — and stared again. He
gripped it hard in both fists and rose
to his feet, still staring. The other
sheets dropped to the floor, un-
heeded.
“Mike, Mike!” He was shaking
the other madly. “He held it
steady!”
Donovan came to life. “What?
Wh-where — ” And he, too, gazed
with bulging eyes upon the tecord
before 'him.
Cutie broke in. “What is wrong?”
“You kept it in focus,” stuttered
Powell. “Did you know that?”
“Focus? What’s that?”
“You kept the beam directed
sharply at the receiving station — to
within a ten-thousandth of a milli-
second of arc.”
“What receiving station?”
“On Earth. The receiving station
on Earth,” babbled Powell. ‘Won
kept it in focus.”
Cutie turned on his heel in annoy-
ance. “It is impossible to perform
any act of kindness toward you two.
Always that same phantasm! I
merely kept all dials at equilibrium
in accordance with the will of the
Master.”
Gathering the scattered papers to-
gether, he withdrew stiffly, and Don-
ovan said, as he left, “Well, I’ll be
damned.”
He turned to Powell. “What are
we going to do now?”
Powell felt tired, but u}}lifted.
“Nothing. He’s just shown he can
run the station perfectly. I’ve never
seen an electron storm handled so
well.”
“But nothing’s solved. You
heard what he said of the Master.
We can’t — ”
“Look, Mike, he follows the in-
structions of the Master by means of
dials, instruments, and graphs.
That’s all we ever followed.”
“Sure, but that’s not the point.
We can’t let him continue this nit-
wit stuff about the Master.”
“Why not?”
“Because whoever heard of such a
REASON
45
damned tiling? How are we going
to trust him with the station, if he
doesn’t Iielieve in Earth?”
“Can lie handle the station?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then what’s the difference what
he believes!”
Powell spread his arms outward
with a vague smile upon his face
and tumbled backward onto the
bed. He was asleep.
Powell was speaking while strug-
gling into his lightweight space
jacket.
“It would be a simple job,” he
said. “You can bring in new QT
models one by one, equip them with
a,n automatic shut-off switch to act
within the week, so as to allow them
enough time to learn the . . . uh
. . . cult of the Master from the
Prophet himself; then switch them
to another station and revitalize
them. We could have two QT’s
per — ”
Donovan unclasped his glas.site
visor and scowled, “Shut up, and
let’s get out of here. Relief is wait-
ing and I won’t feel right until I
actually see Earth and feel the
ground under my feet — just to make
sure it’s really there.”
The door opened as he spoke and
Donovan, with a smothered curse,
clicked the visor to, and turned a
sulky back upon Cutie.
The robot approached softly and
there was sorrow in his voice. “You
are going?”
Powell nodded curtly. “There will
be others in our place.”
Cutie sighed, with the sound of
wind humming through closely
spaced wires. “Your term of serv-
ice is over and the time of dissolu-
tion has come. I expected it, but —
Well, the Master’s will be done!”
His tone of resignation stung Pov/-
ell. “Save the sympathy, Cutie.
We’re heading for Earth., not dis-
solution .”
“It is best that you think so,”
Cutie sighed again. “I see the wis-
do.m of the illusion nov/. I would
not attempt to shake your faith,
even if I could.” He departed — the
picture of commiseration.
Powell snarled and motioned to
Donovan. Sealed suitcases in hand,
they headed for the air lock.
The relief ship was on the outer
la.nding and Franz Muller, his relief
man, greeted them with stiff cour-
tesy. Donovan made scant ac-
knowledgment a.nd passed into the
pilot room to take over the controls
from Sam Evans.
Powell lingered. “How’s Earth?”
It was a conventional enough
question and Muller gave the con-
ventional answer, “Still spinning.”
He was donning the heavy space
gloves in preparation for his term
of duty here, and his thick eyebrows
dreW' close together. “How is this
new robot. getting along? It better
be good, or I’ll be damned if I let it
touch the controls.”
Powell paused before answering.
His eyes swept the proud Prussian
before him from the close-cropped
hair on the sternly stubborn head,
to the feet standing stiffly at atten-
tion — and there v/as a sudden glow
of pure gladness surging through
him.
“The robot is pretty good,” he said
slowly. “I don’t think you’ll have
to bother much with the controls.”
He grinned — and went into the
ship. Muller would be here for sev-
eral weeks —
THE EHO.
46
[mcosmic god
By Theodore Sturgeon
Kidder had a sysfem for JisvenHng f kings in a
hurry— and he fhoiighf he had a sysfem for
handling fhe resulfs. His mefhod was inhuman
-~‘haf his agenf was human — ‘Ond dangerous!
Illustrated by Schneeman
Herb is a story about a man
who had too much power, and a man
who took too much, but don’t worry;
I’m not going political on you. The
man who had the power was named
James Kidder, and the other was his
banker.
Kidder was quite a guy. He was
a scientist and he lived on a small
island off the New England coast all
by himself. He wasn’t the dwarfed
little gnome of a mad scientist you®
read about. His hobbjT- wasn’t per-
sonal profit, and he wasn’t a megalo-
maniac with a Russian name and no
scruples. He wasn’t insidious, and
he wasn’t even particularly subver-
sive. He kept his hair cut and his
nails clean and lived and thought
like a reasonable human being. He
was slightly on the baby-faced side;
lie was inclined to be a hermit; he
was short and plump and — brilliant.
His specialty was biochemistry, and
he was always called Mr. Kidder.
Not “Dr.” Not “Professor.” Just
Mr. Kidder.
He was an odd sort of apple and
always had been. He had never
graduated from any college or uni-
versity because he found them too
slow for him, and too rigid in their
approach to education. He couldn’t
get used to the idea that perhaps his
professors knew what they were talk-
ing about. That went for his texts.
too. He was always asking ques-
tions, and didn’t mind very much
when they were embarrassing. He
considered Gregor Mendel a bun-
gling liar, Darwin an amusing phi-
losopher, and Luther BurbfUik a
sensationalist. He never opened his
mouth without grabbing a stickful
of question marks. If he was talking
to someone who had knowledge, he
went in there and got it, leaving his
victim feeling breathless. If lie was
talking to someone whose knowledge
was already in his possession, he only
asked repeatedly, “How do you
know?” His most delectable pleas-
ure was taken in cutting a fanatical
eugenicist into conversational rib-
bons. So people left him alone and
never, never asked him to tea. He
was polite, but not politic.
He had a little money of his own,
and with it he leased the island and
built himself a laboratory. Now I’ve
mentioned that he was a biochemist.
But being what he was, he couldn’t
keep his nose in his own field. It
wasn’t too remarkable when he made
an intellectual excursion wide enough
to perfect a method of crystallizing
Vitamin Bi profitably by the ton —
if anyone wanted it by the ton. He
got a lot of money for it. He bought
his island outright and put eight hun-
dred men to work on an acre and a
half of his ground, adding to his
MICROCOSMIC GOD
47
laboratory and building equipment.
He got messing around with sisal
fiber, found out how to fuse it, and
boomed the banana industry by pro-
ducing a practically unbreakable
cord from the stuff.
You remember the popularizing
demonstration he put on at Niagara,
The only thing they had to work with to forestall
that driving plunger was aluminum — so they learned!
48 '
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
don’t you? That business of running
a line of the new cord from bank to
bank over the rapids and suspending
a ten-ton truck from the middle of
it by razor edges resting on the cord?
That’s why ships now moor them-
selves with what looks like heaving
line, no thicker than a lead pencil,
that can be coiled on reels like gar-
den hose. Kidder made cigarette
money out of that, too. He went
out and bought himself a cyclotron
with part of it.
After that money wasn’t money
and more. It was large numbers in
little books. Kidder used to use lit-
tle amounts of it to have food and
equipment sent out to him, but after
a while that stopped, too. His bank
dispatched a messenger by seaplane
to find out if Kidder was still alive.
The man returned two days later in
a mused state, having been amazed
something awesome at the things
he’d seen out there. Kidder was
alive, all right, and he was turning
out a surplus of good food in an- as-
tonishingly simplified synthetic form.
The bank wrote immediately and
wanted to know if Mr. Kidder, in his
own interest, was willing to release
the secret of his dirtless farming.
Kidder replied that he would be glad
to, and inclosed the formulas. In a
P. S. he said that he hadn't sent the
information ashore because he hadn’t
realized anyone would be interested...
That from a man who was responsi-
ble for the greatest sociological
change in the second half of the
twentieth century — factory farming.
It made him richer; I mean it made
his bank richer. He didn’t give a
rap.
But Kidder didn’t really get
started until about eight months
after the bank messenger’s visit. For
a biochemist who couldn’t even be
called “Dr.” he did pretty well. Here
is a partial list of the things that he
turned out:
A commercially feasible plan for
making an aluminum alloy stronger
than the best steel so that it could
be used as a structural metal.
An exhibition gadget he called a
light pump, which worked on the
theory that light is a form of matter
and therefore subject to physical and
electromagnetic laws. Seal a room
with a single light . source, beam a
cylindrical vibratory magnetic field
to it from the pump, and the light
will be led down it. Now pass the
light through Kidder’s “lens” — a ring
which perpetuates an electric field
along the lines of a high-speed iris-
type camera shutter. Below this is
the heart of the light pump — a
ninety-eight-percent efficient light
absorber, crystalline, which, in a
sense, loses the light in its internal
facets. The effect of darkening the
room with this apparatus is slight
but measurable. Pardon my lay-
man’s language, but that’s the gen-
eral idea.
Synthetic chlorophyll— by the
barrel.
An airplane irropellor efficient at
eight times sonic speed.
A cheap goo you brush on over old
paint, let harden, and then peel off
like strips of cloth. The old paint
comes with it. That one made
friends fast.
A self-sustaining atomic disinte-
gration of uranium’s isotope 238,
which is two hundred times as plen-
tifnl as the old stand-by, U-235.
That will do for the present. If I
may repeat myself; for a biochemist
who couldn’t even be called Dr., he
did pretty well.
Kidder was apparently uncon-
scious of the fact that he held power
enough on his little island to become
master of the vmrld. His mind sim-
ply didn’t run to things like that.
MICEOCOSMIC GOD
4 §
As long as he was left alone with his
ejjperiments, he was well content to
leave the rest of the world to its own
clumsy and primitive devices. He
couldn’t be reached except by a ra-
diophone of his own design, and its
only counterpart was locked in a
vault of his Boston bank. Only one
man could operate it — the bank
president. The extraordinarily sensi-
tive transmitter would respond only
to President Conant’s own body vi-
brations. Kidder had instructed
Conant that he was not to be dis-
turbed except by messages of the
greatest moment. Plis ideas and pat-
ents, when Conant could pry one out
of him, were released under pseudo-
nyms known only to Conant — Kid-
der didn’t care.
The result, of course, was an infil-
tration of the most astonishing ad-
vancements since the dawn of civili-
zation. The nation profited — the
world profited. But most of all, the
bank profited. It began to get a lit-
tle oversize. It began getting its fin-
gers into other pies. It grew more
fingers and had to bake more figura-
tive pies. Before many years had
passed, it was so big that, using Kid-
der’s many wea{>oios, it almost
matched Kidder in power.
Almost.
Now stand by while I squelch
those fellows in the lower left-hand
corner who’ve been saying all this
while that Kidder’s slightly improba-
ble; tliat no man could ever perfect
himself in so many ways in so many
sciences.
Well, you’re right. Kidder was a
genius — granted. But his genius was
not creative. He was, to the core, a
student. He applied what he knew,
what he saw, and what he was
taught. When first he began work-
ing in his new laboratory on his
island he reasoned something like
this:
“Everything I know is what I have
been taught by the sayings and writ-
ing.s of people who have studied the
sayings and writings of people who
have — and so on. Once in a while
someone stumbles on something' new
and he or someone cleverer uses the
idea and disseminates it. But for
each one that finds something really
new, a couple of million gather and
pass on infoi’mation that is already
current. I’d know more if I could
get the jump on evolutionary trends.
It takes too long to wait for the acci-
dents that increase man’s knowledge
— rny knowledge. If I had ambition
enough now to figure out how to
travel ahead in time, I could skim
the surface of the future and just dip
down when I saw something interest-
ing. But time isn’t that way. It
can’t be left behind or tossed ahead.
What else is left?
“Well, there’s 'the proposition of
speeding intellectual evolution so
that I can observe what it cooks up.
That seems a bit inefficient. It
would involve more labor to disci-
pline human minds to that extent
than it would to simply apply myself
along those lines. But I can’t apply
myself that way. No one man can.
“I’m, licked. I can’t speed myself
up, and I can’t speed other men’s
minds up. Isn’t there an alterna-
tive? There must be — somev/here,
somehow, there’s got to be an an-
swer.”
So it was on this, and not on eu-
genics, or light pumps, or botany, or
atomic physics, that James Kidder
applied himself. For a practical man,
the problem was slightly on the
metaphysical side, but he attacked it
with typical thoroughness, using his
own peculiar brand of logic. Day
after day he wandered over the
island, throwing shells impotently at
60
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
sea gulls and swearing richly. Then
came a time when he sat indoors and
brooded. And only then did he get
feverishly to work.
He worked in his own field, bio-
chemistry, and concentrated mainly
on two things — genetics and animal
metabolism. He learned, and filed
away in his insatiable mind, many
things having nothing to do with the
problem in hand, and very little of
what he wanted. But he piled that
little on what little he knew or
guessed, and in time had quite a col-
lection of known factors to work
with. His approach was character-
istically unorthodox. He did things
on the order of multiplying apples
by pears, and balancing equations by
adding log V-l to one side and to
the other. He made mistakes, but
only one of a kind, and later, only
one of a species. He spent so many
hours at his microscope that he had
to quit work for two days to get rid
of a hallucination that his heart was
pumping his own blood through the
mike. He did nothing by trial and
error because he disapproved of the
method as sloppy.
And he got results. He was lucky
to begin with, and even luckier when
he formularized the law of proba-
bility and reduced it to such low
terms that he knew almost to the
item what experiments not to try.
When the cloudy, viscous semifluid
on the watch glass began to move of
itself he knew he was on the right
track. When it began to seek food
on its own he began to be excited.
When it divided and, in a few hours,
redivided, and each part grew and
divided again, he was triumphant,
for he had created life.
He nursed his brain children and
sweated and strained over them, and
he designed baths of various vibra-
tions for them, and inoculated and
dosed and sprayed them. Each move
he made taught him the next. And
out of his tanks and tubes and incu-
bators came amoebalike creatures,
and then ciliated animalcules, and
more and more rapidly he pi'oduced
animals with eye spots, nerve cysts,
and then — victory of victories — a
real blastopod, possessed of many
cells instead of one. More slowly he
developed a gastropod, but once he
had it, it was not too difficult for
him to give it organs, each with a
specified function, each inheritable.
Then came cultured molluskllke
things, and creatures with more and
more perfected gills. The day that
a nondescript thing wriggled up an
inclined board out of a tank, threw
flaps over its gills and feebly
breathed air, Kidder quit work and
went to the other end of the island
and got disgustingly drunk. Hang-
over and all, he was soon back in
the lab, forgetting to eat, forgetting
to sleep, tearing into his problem.
He turned into a scientific byway
and ran down his other great tri-
umph — accelerated metabolism. He
extracted and refined the stimulating
factors in alcohol, coca, heroin, and
Mother Nature’s prize dope runner,
cannabis indioa. Like the scientist
who, in analyzing the various clot-
ting agents for blood treatments,
found that oxalic acid and oxalic
acid alone was the active factor, Kid-
der isolated the accelerators and de-
celerators, the stimulants and sopor-
ifics, in every substance that ever
undermined a man’s morality and/or
caused a “noble experiment.” In the
process he found one thing he needed
badly — a colorless elixir that made
sleep the unnecessary and avoidable
waster of time it should be. Then
and there he went on a twenty-four-
hour shift.
He artificially synthesized the sub-
stances he had isolated, and in doing
MICKOCGSMIC GOD
51
so sloughed away a great many use-
less components. He pursued the
subject along the lines of radiations
and vibrations. He discovered some-
thing in the longer reds which, when
projected through a vessel full of air
vibrating in the supersonics, and then
polarized, speeded up the heartbeat
of small animals twenty to one.
They ate twenty times as much, grew
twenty times as fast, and — died
twenty times sooner than they
should have.
Kidder built a huge hermetically
sealed room. Above it was another
room, the same length and breadth
but not quite as high. This was his
control chamber. The large room
was divided into four sealed sections,
each with its individual heat and at-
mosphere controls. Over each sec-
tion were miniature cranes and der-
ricks — handling machinery of all
kinds. There were also trapdoors fit-
ted with air locks leading from the
upper to the lower room.
By this time the other laboratory
had produced a warm-blooded,
snake-skinned quadruped with an as-
tonishingly rapid life cycle — a gener-
ation every eight days, a life span of
about fifteen. Like the echidna, it
was oviparous and mammalian. Its
period of gestation was six hours; the
eggs hatched in three; the young
reached sexual maturity in another
four days. Each female laid four
eggs and lived just long enough to
care for the young after they
hatched. The males generally died
two or three hours after mating. The
creatures were highly adaptable.
They were small — not more than
three inches long, two inches to the
.shoulder from the ground. Their
forepaws had three digits and a tri-
ple-jointed, opposed thumb. They
were attuned to life in an atmosphere
with a large ammonia content. Kid-
der bred four groups of the creatures
AST— 4
and put one group in each section of
the sealed room.
Then he was ready. With his con-
trolled atmospheres he varied tem-
peratures, oxygen content, humidity.
He killed them off like flies with ex-
cesses of, for instance, carbon diox-
ide, and the survivors bred their
physical resistance into the next gen-
eration. Periodically he would
switch the eggs from one sealed sec-
tion to another to keep the strains
varied. And rapidly, under these
controlled conditions, the creatures
began to evolve.
This, then, was the answer to his
problem. He couldn’t speed up man-
kind’s intellectual advancement
enough to have it teach him the
things his incredible mind yearned
for. He couldn’t speed himself up.
So he created a new race — a race
which would develop and evolve so
fast that it would surpass the civili-
zation of man; and from them he
would learn.
They were completely in Kidder’s
power. Earth’s normal atmosphere
would poison them, as he took care
to demonstrate to eveiy fourth gen-
eration. They would make no at-
tempt to escape from him. They
would live their lives and progress
and make their little trial-and-error
experiments hundreds of times faster
than man did. They had the edge
on man, for they had Kidder to guide
them. It took man six thousand
years to really discover science, three
hundred to really put it to work. It
took Kidder’s creatures two hundred
days to equal man’s mental attain-
ments, . And from then on — Kidder’s
spasmodic output made the late,
great Tom Edison look like a home
handicrafter.
He called them Neoterics, and he
teased them into working for hi m .
Kidder was inventive in an ideologi-
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
cal way; that is, he could dream up
impossible propositions providing he
didn’t have to work them out. For
example, he wanted the Neoterics to
figure out for themselves how to
build shelters out of porous material.
He created the need for such shel-
ters by subjecting one of the sections
tO' a high-pressure rainstorm which
flattened the inhabitants. The Neo-
terics promptly devised waterproof
shelters out of the thin waterproof
material he piled in one corner. Kid-
der immediately blew down the
flimsy structures with a blast of cold
air. They built them up again so
that they resisted both w^ind and
rain. Kidder lowered the tempera-
ture so abruptly that they could not
adjust their bodies to it. They
heated their shelters with tiny
braziers. Kidder promptly turned
up the heat until they began to roast
to death. After a few deaths, one of
their bright boys figured out how to
build a strong insulant house by us-
ing three-ply rubberoid, with the
middle layer perforated thousands of
times to create tiny air pockets.
Using such tactics, Kidder forced
them to develop a highly advanced
little culture. He caused a drought
in one section and a liquid surplus in
another, and then opened the parti-
tion between them. Quite a spec-
tacular war was fought, and Kidder’s
notebooks filled with information
about military tactics and weapons.
Then there was the vaccine they de-
veloped against the common cold —
the reason why that affliction has
been absolutely stamped out in the
world today, for it was one of the
things that Conant, the bank presi-
dent, got hold of. He spoke to Kid-
der over the radiophone one winter
afternoon with a voice so hoarse from
laryngitis that Kidder sent him a
vial of the vaccine .and told him
briskly not to ever call him again in.
such a disgustingly inaudible state.
Conant had it analyzed and again
Kidder’s accounts — and the bank’s
— swelled.
At first Kidder merely supplied
them with the materials he thought
the Neoterics might need, but when
they developed an intelligence equal
to the task of fabricating their own
from the elements at hand, he gave
each section a stock of raw materials.
The process for really strong alumi-
num was developed when he built in
a huge plunger in one of the sections,
which reached from wall to wall and
was designed to descend at the rate
of four inches a day until it crashed
whatever was at the bottom. The
Neoterics, in self-defense, used what
strong material they had in hainl to
stop the inexorable death tliat
threatened them. But Kidder had
seen to it that they had nothing but
aluminum oxide and a scattering of
other elements, plus plenty of elec-
tric power. At first they ran up doz-
ens of aluminum pillars; when these
were crushed and twisted they tried
shaping them so that the soft metal
would take' more weight. When that
failed they quickly built stronger
ones; and when the plunger was
halted, Kidder removed one of the
pillars and analyzed it. It was hard-
ened aluminum, stronger and
tougher than molyb steel.
Experience taught Kidder that he
had to make certain changes to in-
crease his power over his Neoterics
before they got too ingenious. There
were things that could be done
with atomic power that he was curi-
ous about; but he was not willing to
trust his little superscientists with a
thing like that unless they could be
trusted to use it strictly according to
Hoyle. So he instituted a rule of
feai‘. The most trivial departure
from what he chose to consider the
MICROCOSMIC GOD
53
“We’ll have to take this along, Kidder.
Sorry you couldn’t see it our way, but — ”
right way of doing things resulted in
instant death of half a tribe. If he
was trying to develop a Diesel-type
power plant, for instance, that would
operate without a flywheel starter,
and a bright young Neoteric used
any of the materials for architectural
purposes, half the tribe immediately
died. Of course, they had developed
a written language; it was Kidder’s
own. The teletype in a glass-
inclosed area in a corner of each sec-
tion wa,s a shrine. Any directions
that were given on it were obeyed,
or else — After this innovation, Kid^
der’s work was much simpler. There
M
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
was no need for any naore indirection.
Anything he wanted done was done.
No matter how impossible his com-
mands, three or four generations of
Neotei'ics could find a way to carry
them out.
This quotation is from a paper
that one of Kidder’s high-speed tele-
scopic cameras discovered being cir-
culated among the younger Neoter-
ics. It is translated from the highly
simplified script of the Neoterics.
“These edicts shall be followed by
each Neoteric upon pain of death,
which punishment will be inflicted
by the tribe upon the mdividual to
protect the tribe against him.
“Priority of interest and tribal and
individual effort is to be given the
commands that appear on the word
machine.
“Any misdirection of material or
power, or use thereof for .any other
purpose than the carrying out of the
machine’s commands, unless no com-
mand appears, shall be punishable
by death.
“Any information regarding the
problem at hand, or ideas or experi-
ments which might conceivably bear
upon it, are to become the property
of the tribe.
“Any individual failing to co-oper-
ate in the tribal effort, or who can
be termed guilty of not expending
his full efforts in the work; or the
suspicion thereof, shall be subject to
the death penalty.”
Such are the results of complete
domination. This paper impressed
Kidder as much as it did because it
was completely spontaneous. It was
the Neoterics’ own creed, developed
by them for their own greatest good.
And so at last Kidder had his ful-
fillment. Crouched in the upper
room, going from telescope to tele-
scope, running off slowed-down films
from his high-speed cameras, he
found himself possessed of a tracta-
ble, dynamic source of information.
Housed in the great square building
with its four half-acre sections was a
new world, to which he was god.
President Conant’s mind was
similar to Kidder’s in that its ap-
proach to any problem was along the
shortest distance between any two
points, regardless of whether that
approach was along the line of most
or least resistance. His rise to the
bank presidency was a history of
ruthless moves whose only justifica-
tion was that they got him what he
wanted. Like an overefficient gen-
eral, he would never vanquish an
enemy through sheer force of num-
bers alone. He would also skillfully
flank his enemy, not on one side, but
on both. Innocent bystanders were
creatures deserving no consideration.
The time he took over a certain
thousand-acre property, for instance,
from a man named Grady, he was
not satisfied with only the title to
the land. Grady was an airport
owner — had been all his life,- and his
father before him. Conant exerted
every kind of pressure on the man
and found him unshakable. Finally
judicious persuasion led the city offi-
cials to dig a sewer right across the
middle of the field, quite efficiently
wrecking Grady’s business. Know-
ing that this would supply Grady,
who was a wealthy man, with mo-
tive for revenge, Conant took over
Grady’s bank at half again its value
and caused it to fold up. Grady lost
every cent he had and ended his life
in an asylum. Conant was very
proud of his tactics.
Like many another who has had
Mammon by the tail, Conant did not
know when to let go. His vast or-
ganization yielded him more money
and power than any other concern in
history, and yet he was not satisfied.
Conant and money were like Kidder
MICROCOSMIC GOD
65
and knowledge. Conant’s pyramided
enterprises were to him what the
Neoterics were to Kidder. Each had
made his private world; each used it
for his instruction and profit. Kid-
der, though, disturbed nobody but
his Neoterics. Even so, Conant was
not wholly villainous. He was a
shrewd man, and had discovered
early the value of pleasing people.
No man can rob successfully over a
period of years without pleasing the
people he robs. The technique for
doing this is highly involved, but
master it and you can start your own
mint.
Conant’s one great fear was that
Kidder would some day take an in-
terest in world events and begin to
become opinionated. Good heavens
- — the potential power he had! A lit-
tle matter like swinging an election
could be managed by a man like Kid-
der as easily as turning over in bed.
The only thing he could do was to
call him periodically and see if there
was anything that Kidder needed to
keep himself busy. Kidder appreci-
ated this. Conant, once in a while,
would suggest something to Kidder
that intrigued him, something that
would keep him deep in his hermi-
tage for a few weeks. The light
pump was one of the results of Co-
nant’s imagination. Conant bet him
it couldn’t be done. Kidder did it.
One afternoon Kidder answered
the squeal of the radiophone’s sig-
nal. Swearing mildly, he shut off the
film he was watching and crossed the
compound to the old laboratory. He
went to the radiophone, threw a
switch. ■■ The squealing stopped.
“Well.?”
“Hello, Kidder,” said Conant.
“Busy.?”
“Not very,” said Kidder. He was
delighted with the pictures his cam-
era had caught, showing the skillful
work of a gang of Neoterics synthe-
sizing rubber out of pure sulphur.
He would rather have liked to tell
Conant about it, but somehow he
had never got around to telling Co-
nant about the Neoterics, and he
didn’t see why he should start now.
Conant said, “Er . . . Kidder, I
was down at the club the other day
and a bunch of us were filling up an
evening with loose talk. Something
came up which might interest you.”
“What?”
“Couple of the utilities boys there.
You know the power set-up in this
country, don’t you? Thirty percent
atomic, the rest hydro-electric, Diesel
and steam?”
“I hadn’t known,” said Kidder,
who was as innocent as a babe of
current events.
“Well, we were arguing about
what chance a new power source
would haye. One of the men there
said it would be smarter to produce
a new power and then talk about it.
Another one waived that; said he
couldn’t name that new power, but
he could describe it. Said it would
have to have everything that pres-
ent power sources have, plus one or
two more things. It could be cheaper,
for instance. It could be more effi-
cient. It might supersede the others
by being easier to carry from the
power plant to the consumer. See
what I mean? Any one of these fac-
tors might prove a new source of
power competitive to the others.
What I’d like to see is a new power
with all of these factors. What do
you think of it?”
“Not impossible.”
“Think not?”
“I’ll try it.”
“Keep me posted.” Conaiit’s
transmitter clicked off. The switch
was a little piece of false front that
Kidder had built into the set, which
was something that Conant didn’t
know. The set switched itself off
m
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
when Conant moved from it. After
the switch’s sharp crack, Kidder
heard the banker mutter, “If he does
it, I’m all set. If lie doesn’t, at least
the crazy fool will keep himself busy
on the isl— ”
Kidder eyed the radiophone for an
instant with raised eyebrows, and
then shrugged them down, again with
his shoulders. It was quite evident
that Conant had something up his
sleeve, but Kidder wasn’t worried.
Who on earth would want to dis-
turb him? He wasn’t bothering any-
body. He went back to the Neoter-
ics’ building, full of the new power
idea.
Eleven days later Kidder called
Conant and gave specific instructions
on how to equip his receiver with a
facsimile set which would enable
Kidder to send written matter over
the air. As soon as this was done
and Kidder informed, the biochem-
ist for once in his life spoke at some
length.
“Conant — you inferred that a new
power source that would be cheaper,
m.ore efficient and more easily trans-
mitted than any now in use did not
exist. You might be interested in
the little generator I have Just set up.
“It has power, Conant — u,nbe-
lievable power. Broadcast. A beau-
tiful little tight beam. Here — catch
this on the facsimile recorder.” Kid-
der slipped a ■ sheet of paper under
the clips on his transmitter and it
appeared on Coiiant’s set. “Here’s
the wiring diagram for a power re-
ceiver. Now listen. The beam is .so
tight, so highly directional, that not
three thousandths of one percent of
the power would be lost in a two
thousand-mile transmission. The
power system is closed. That is, any
drain, on the beam returns a signal
along it tO' the transmitter, which
automatically step.s up to increase
the power output. It has a limit,
but it’s way up. And something else.
This little gadget of mine can send
out eight different beams with a to-
tal horsepower output of around
eight thousand per minute per beam.
F.rom each beam you can draw
enough power to turn the page of a
book or fly a superstratosphere
plane. Hold on — I haven’t finished
yet. Each beam, a.s I told you be-
fore, returns a signal from receiver
to transmitter. This not only con-
trols the power output of the beam,
but directs it. Once contact is made,
the beam will never let go. It will
follow the receiver anywhere. You
can power land, air or water vehicles
with it, as well as any stationary
plant. Like it?”
Conant, who was a banker and not
a scientist, wiped his shining pate
with the back of his band anrl said,
“I’ve never known, you to steer me
wrong yet, Kidder. How about the
cost of this thing?”
“High,” said Kidder promptly.
“As high as an atomic plant. But
there are no high-tension lines, no
wires, no pipelines, no nothing. The
receivers are little more complicated
than a radio set. The tran.smitter is
— well, that’s quite a job.”
“Didn’t take you. long,” said Co-
naiit.
“No,” said Kidder, “it didn’t, did
it?” It was the lifework of nearly
twelve hundred highly cultured peo-
ple, but Kidder wasn’t going into
that. “Of course, the one 1 have
here’s just a model.”
Conant’s voice was strained. “A
— model? And it delivers — ”
“Over sixty thousand horse-
power,” said Kidder gleefully.
“Good heavens! In a full-sized
machine^ — why, one tran.smitter
would be enough to — ” The possi-
bilities of the thing choked Conant
for a moment. “How is it fueled?”
MICROCOSMIC GOD
57
“It isn’t,” said Kidder. “I won’t
begin to explain it. I’ve tapped a
source of power of unimaginable
force. It’s — well, big. So big that
it can’t be misused.”
“What?” snapped Conant. “What
do you mean by that?”
Kidder cocked an eyebrow. Co-
nant had something up his sleeve,
then. At this second indication of
it, Kiddei-, the least suspicious of
men, began to put himself on guard.
“I mean just what I say,” he said
evenly. “Don’t try too hard to un-
derstand me — I barely savvy it my-
self. But the source of this power is
a monstrous resultant caused by the
unbalance of two previously equal-
ized forces. Those equalized forces
are cosmic in quantity. Actually,
the forces are those which make suns,
crush atoms the way they crushed
those that compose the companion
of Sirius. It’s not anything you can
fool with.”
“I don’t — ” said Conant, and his
voice ended puzzledly.
“I’ll give you a parallel of it,” said
Kidder. .“Suppose you take two rods,
one in each hand.^ Place their tips
together and pusli. As long as your
pressure is directly along their long-
axes, the pressure is equalized; right
and left hands cancel each other out.
Now I come along; I put out one
finger and touch the rods ever so
lightly where they come together.
They snap out of line violently; you
break a couple of knuckles. The re-
sultant force is at right angles to the
original force you exerted. My
power transmitter is on the same
principle. It takes an infinitesimal
amount of energy to throw those
forces out of line. Easy enough when
you know how to do it. The impor-
tant question is whether or not you
can control the resultant when you
get it. I can.”
“I — see.” Conant indulged in a
four-second gloat. “Heaven help the
utility companies. I don’t intend to.
Kidder — I want a full-size power
transmitter.”
Kidder clucked into the radio-
phone. “Ambitious, aren’t you? I
haven’t a staff out here, Conant —
you know that. And I can’t be ex-
pected to build four or five thousand
tons of apparatus myself.”
“I’ll have five hundred engineers
and laborers out there in forty-eight
hours.”
“You will not. Why bother me
with it? I’m quite happy here, Co-
nant, and one of the reasons is that
I’ve no one to get in my hair.”
“Oh, now, Kidder — don’t be like
that. I’ll pay you — ”
“You haven’t got that much
money,” said Kidder briskly. He
flipped the switch on his set. His
switch worked.
Conant was furious. He shouted
into the phone several times, then
began to lean on the signal button.
On his island, Kidder let the thing
squeal and went back tq^his projec-
tion room. He was sorry he had sent
the diagram of the receiver to Co-
nant. It would have been interest-
ing to power a plane or a car with
the model transmitter he had- taken
from the Neoterics. But if Conant
was going to be that way about it —
well, anyway, the receiver would be
no good without the transmitter.
Any radio engineer would under-
stand the diagram, but not the beam
which activated it. And Conant
wouldn’t get his beam.
Pity he didn’t know Conant well
enough.
Kidder’s days were endless sorties
into learning. He never slept, nor
did his Neoterics. He ate regularly
every five hours, exercised for half an
hour in every twelve. He did not
keep track of time, for it meant noth-
£8
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
ing to him. Had he wanted to know
the date, or the year, even, he knew
be could get it from Conant. He
didn’t care, that’s all. The time that
was not spent in observation was
used in developing new problems for
the Neoterics. His thoughts just
now ran to defense. The idea was
born in his conversation with Co-
nant; now the idea was primary, its
motivation something of no impor-
tance. The Neoterics were working
on a vibration field of quasi-electrical
nature. Kidder could see little prac-
tical value in such a thing — an invisi-
ble wall which would kill any living
thing which touched it. But still —
the idea was intriguing.
He stretched and moved away
from the telescope in the upper room
through which he had been watching
his creations at work. He was pro-
foundly happy here in the large con-
trol room. Leaving it to go to the
old laboratory for a bite to eat was
a thing he hated to do. He felt like
bidding it good-by each time he
walked across the compound, and
saying a glad hello when he returned.
A little amused at himself, he went
out.
There was a black blob — a distant
power boat — a few miles off the
island, toward the mainland. Kid-
der stopped and stared distastefully
at it. A white petal of spray was af-
fixed to each side of the black body
— it was coming toward him. He
snorted, thinking of the time a yacht
load of silly fools had landed out of
curiosity one afternoon, spewed
themselves over his beloved island,
peppered him with lame-brained
questions, and thrown his nervous
equilibrium out for days. Lord, how
he hated people!
The thought of unpleasantness
bred two more thoughts that played
half-con sciously with his mind as he
crossed the compound and entered
the old laboratory. One was that
perhaps it might be wise to surround
his buildings with a field of force of
some kind and post warnings for
trespassers. The other thought was
of Conant and the vague uneasiness
the man had been sending to him
through the radiophone these last
weeks. His suggestion, two days
ago, that a power plant be built on
the island — horrible idea!
Conant rose from his seat on a
laboratory bench as Kidder walked
in.
They looked at each other word-
lessly for a long moment. Kidder
hadn’t seen the bank president in
years. The man’s presence, he
found, made his scalp crawl.
“Hello,” said Conant geniallj^
“You’re looking fit.”
Kidder grunted. Conant eased his
unwieldy body back onto the bench
and said, “Just to save you the en-
ergy of asking questions, Mr. Kidder,
I arrived two hours ago on a small
boat. Rotten way to travel. I
wanted to be a surprise to you; my
two men rowed me the last couple of
miles. You’re not very well equipped
here for defense, are you.^ Why,
anyone could slip up on you the way
I did.”
“Who’d want to?” growled Kid-
der. The man’s voice edged annoy-
ingly into his brain. He spoke too
loudly for such a small room; at least,
Kidder’s hermit’s ears felt that way.
Kidder shrugged and went about
preparing a light meal for himself.
“Well,” drawled the banker, “T
might want to.” He drew out a
Dow-metal cigar case. “Mind if I
smoke?”
“I do,” said Kidder sharply.
Conant laughed easily and put the
cigars away. “I might,” he said,
“want to urge you to let me build
that power station on this island.”
MICKOCOSMIC GOD
m
“Radiophone work?”
“Oh, yes. But now that I’m here
you can’t sA¥itch me off. Now — ^how
about it?”
“I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Oh, but you should, Kidder, you
should. Think of it — think of the
good it would do for the masses of
people that are now paying exorbi-
tant power bills!”
“I hate the masses! Why do you
have to build here?”
“Oh, that. It’s an ideal location.
You own the island; work could be-
gin here without causing any com-
ment whatsoever. The plant would
spring full-fledged on the power mar-
kets of the country, having been
built in secret. The island can be
made impregnable.”
“I don’t want to be bothered.”
“We wouldn’t bother you. We’d
build on the north end of the island
— a mile and a quarter from you and
your work. Ah — by the way —
where’s the model of the power trans-
mitter?”
Kidder, with his mouth full of syn-
thesized food, waved a hand at a
small table on which stood the model,
a four-foot, amazingly intricate de-
vice of plastic and steel and tiny
coils.
Coiiant rose and went over to look
at it. “Actually works, eh?” He
sighed deeply and said, “Kidder, I
really hate to do this, but I want to
build that plant rather badly. Cor-
son! Robbins!”
Two bull-necked individuals
stepped out from their hiding places
in the corners of the room. One idly
dangled a revolver by its trigger
guard. Kidder looked blankly from
one to the other of them.
“These gentlemen will follow my
orders implicitly, Kidder. In half an
hour a party will land here — engi-
neers, contractors. They will start
surveying the north end of the island
for the construction of the power
plant. These boys here feel about
the same way I do as far as you are
concerned. Do we proceed with
your co-operation or without it? It’s
immaterial to me whether or not you
are left alive to continue your work.
My engineers can duplicate your
model.”
Kidder said nothing. He had
stopped chewing when he saw the
gunmen, and only now remembered
to swallow. He sat crouched over
his plate without moving or speak-
ing.
Conant broke the silence by walk-
ing to the door. “Robbins — can you
carrj^ that model there?” The big
man put his gun away, lifted the
model gently, and nodded. “Take
it down to the beach and meet the
other boat. Tell Mr. Johansen, the
engineer, that that is the model he
is to work from.” Robbins went out.
Conant turned to Kidder. “There’s
no need for us to anger ourselves,”
he said oilily. “I think you are stub-
born, but I don’t hold it against you.
I know how you feel. You’ll be left
alone; you have my promise. But I
mean to go ahead on this job, and a
small thing like your life can’t stand
in my way.”
Kidder said, “Get out of here.”
There were two swollen veins throb-
bing at his temples. His voice was
low, and it shook.
“Very well. Good day, Mr. Kid-
der. Oh — by the way — lyou’re a
clever devil.” No one had ever re-
ferred to the scholastic Mr. Kidder
that way before, “I realize the pos-
sibility of your blasting us off the
island. I wouldn’t do it if I were
you. I’m willing to give you what
you want — ^privacy; I want the
same thing in return. If anything
happens to me while I’m here, the
island will be bombed by someone
60
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
who is working for me. I’ll admit
they might fail. If they do, the
United States government will take
a hand. You wouldn’t want that,
would you.'' That’s rather a big
thing for one man to fight. The
same thing goes if the plant is sabo-
taged in any way after I go back to
the mainland. You might be killed.
You will most certainly be bothered
interminably. Thanks for your . . .
er . , . co-operation.” The banker
smirked and walked out, followed by
his taciturn gorilla.
Kidder sat there for a long time
without moving. Then he shook his
head, rested it in his palms. He was
badly frightened; not so much be-
cause his life was in danger, but be-
cause his privacy and, his work — his
world — were threatened. He was
hurt and bewildered. He wasn’t a
businessman. He couldn’t handle
men. All his life he had run away
from humans and what they repre-
sented to him. He was like a fright-
ened child when men closed in on
him.
Cooling a little, he wondered
vaguely what would happen when
the power plant opened. Certainly
the government would be interested.
Unless — unless by then Conant was
the government. That plant was an
uniin,aginab]e source of power, and
not only the kind of power that
turned v^heels. He rose and went
back to the world that was home to
him, a world where his motives were
understood, and where there were
those who could help him. Back at
the Neoterics’ building, he escaped
yet again from the world of men into
liis work.
Kidder called Conant the fol-
lowing week, much to the banker’s
surprise. His twO' days on the island
had gotten the work well under way,
and he had left with the aiTival of a
shipload of laborers and material.
He kept in close touch by radio with
Johansen, the engineer in. charge. It
had been a blind job for Johansen
and all the rest of the crew on the
island. Only the bank’s infinite re-
sources could have hired such a man,
or the picked gang with him.
Johansen’s first reaction wh,eii he
saw the model had been ecstatic. He
wanted to tell his friends about this
marvel; but the only radio set availa-
ble was beamed to Con ant’s private
office in the bank, and Conant’s
armed guards, one to every two
workers, had strict orders to destroy
any other radio transmitter on sight.
About that time he realized that he
was a prisoner on the island. His in-
stant anger subsided when he re-
flected that being a pi'isoner at .fifty
thousand dollars a week wasn’t too
bad. Two of the laborers and an
engineer thought differently, and got
disgruntled a couple of days after
they arrived. They disappeared one
night — the same night that five shots
were fired down on the bea,ch. No
questions were asked, and there was
no more trouble.
Conant covered his surprise at
Kidder’s call and was as offensively
jovial as ever. “Well, now! Any-
thing I can do for you?”
“Yes,” said Kidder. liis voice was
low, completely without expression.
“I want you to issue a warning to
your men not to pass th,e white li.n,e
I have drawn five hundred yards
north of my buildings, right across
the island.”
“Warning? Why, my dear fellow,
they have orders that you are not
to lie disturbed on any account.”
“You’ve ordered them. All right.
Now warn them. I have an electric
field surrounding my laboratories
that will kill anything living which
penetrates it. I don’t want to liave
murder on my conscience. There
MICROCOSMIC GOD
61
will be no deaths unless there are
trespassers. You’ll inform your
workers.^”
“Oh, now, Kidder,” the banker ex-
postulated. “That was totally un-
necessary. You won’t be bothered.
Why — ” But he found he was talk-
ing into a dead mike. He knew bet-
ter than to call back. He called Jo-
hansen instead and told him about
it. Johausen didn’t like the sound of
it, bnt he repeated the message and
signed off. Conant liked that man.
He was, for a moment, a little sorry
that Johansen would never reach the
mainland alive.
But that Kidder — ^lie was begin-
ning to be a problem. As long as
his weapons were strictly defensive
he was no real menace. But he
would have to be taken care of when
the plant was operating. Conant
couldn’t afford to have genius around
him unless it was unquestionably on
his side. The power transmitter and
Conant’s highly ambitious plans
would be safe as long as Kidder was
left to himself. Kidder knew that
he could, for the time being, expect
more sympathetic treatment from
Conant than he could from a horde
of government investigators.
Kidder only left his own inclosure
‘once after the work began on the
north end of the island, and it took
all of his unskilled diplomacy to do
it. Knowing the source of the plant’s
power, knowing what could happen
if it were misused, he asked Conant’s
permission to inspect the great trans-
mitter when it was nearly finished.
Insuring his own life by refusing to
report back to Conant until he was
safe within his own laboratory again,
he turned off his shield and walked
up to the north end.
He saw an awe-inspiring sight.
The four-foot model was duplicated
nearly a hundred times as large. In-
side a massive three-hundred-foot
tower a siaace was packed nearly
solid with the same bewildering maze
of coils and bars that the Neoterics
had built so delicately into their ma-
chine. At the top was a globe of pol-
ished golden alloy, the transmitting
antenna. From it would stream
thousands of tight beams of force,
which could be tapped to any degree
by corresponding thousands of re-
ceivers placed anywhere at any dis-
tance. Kidder learned that the re-
ceivers had already been built, but
his informant, Johansen, knew little
about that end of it and was saying
less. Kidder checked over every de-
tail of the structure, and when he
was through he shook Johansen’s
hand admiringly.
“I didn’t want this thing here,” he
said shyly, “and I don’t. But I will
say that it’s a pleasure to see this
kind of work.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet the man
that invented it.”
Kidder beamed. “I didn’t invent
it,” he said. “Maybe some day I’ll
show you who did. I — well,
good-by.” He turned before he had
a chance to say too much and
marched off down the path.
“Shall I.^” said a voice at Johan-
sen’s side. One of Conant’s guards
had his gun out.
Johansen knocked the man’s arm
down. “No.” He scratched his
head. “So that’s the mysterious
menace from the other end of the
island. Eh! Why, he’s a hell of a
nice little feller!”
Built on the ruins of Denver,
which was destroyed in the great
Battle of the Rockies during the
Western War, stands the most beau-
tiful city in the world — our nation’s
capital. New Washington. In a cir-
cular room deep in the heart of the
white house, the president, three
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
m
Followed by the engineer, Kidder ran for the other end of the
island, and for his sanctum. There, and only there, was hope —
army men and a civilian sat. Under
the president’s desk a dictaphone un-
ostentatiously recorded every word
that was said. Two thousand and
more miles away, Conant hung over
a radio receiver, tuned to receive the
signals of the tiny transmitter in the
civilian’s side pocket.
One of the officers spoke.
“Mr. President, the ‘impossible
claims’ made for this gentleman’s
product are absolutely true. He has
proved beyond doubt each item on
his prospectus.”
The president glancefi at the ci-
vilian, back, at the officer. “I won’t
MICROCOSMIC GOD
63
wait for your report,” he said. “Tell
me — what happened
Another of the army men mopped
his face with a khaki bandanna. “I
can’t ask you to believe us, Mr.
President, but it’s true all the same.
Mr. Wright here has in his suitcase
three or four dozen small . , . er . . .
bombs — ”
“They’re not bombs,” said Wright
casually.
“All right. They’re not bombs.
Mr. Wright smashed two of them on
an anvil with a sledge hammer.
There was no result. He put two
more in an electric furnace. They
burned away like so much tin and
cardboard. We droj)ped one down
the barrel of a field piece and fired
it. Still nothing.” He paused and
looked at the third officer, who
picked up the account.
“We really got started then. We
flew to the proving grounds, dropped
one of the objects and flew to thirty
thousand feet. From there, with a
small hand detonator no bigger than
your fist, Mr. Wright set the thing
off. I’ve never seen anything like
it. Forty acres of land came straight
up at us, breaking up as it came. The
concussion was terrific — you must
have felt it here, four hundred miles
away.”
The president nodded. “I did.
Seismographs on the other side of
the Earth picked it up.”
“The crater it left was a quarter
of a mile deep at the center. Why,
one plane load of those things could
demolish any city! There isn’t even
any necessity for accuracy!”
“You haven’t heard anything
yet,” another officer broke in. “Mr.
Wright’s automobile is powered by
a small plant similar to the others.
He demonstrated it to us. We could
find no fuel tank of any kind, or any
other driving mechanism. But with
a power plant no bigger than six cu-
bic inches, that car, carrying enough
weight to give it traction, outpulled
an army tank!”
“And the other test!” said the
third excitedly. “He put one of the
objects into a replica of a treasury
vault. The walls were twelve feet
thick, super-reinforced concrete. He
controlled it from over a hundred
yards away. Fie ... he burst that
vault! It wasn’t an explosion — it
was as if some incredibly powerful
expansive force inside filled it and
flattened the walls from inside. They
cracked and split and powdered, and
the steel girders and rods came twist-
ing and shearing out like . . . like
— whew! After that he insisted on
seeing you. We knew it wasn’t
usual, but he said he has more to say
and would say it only in your pres-
ence.”
The president said gravely.
“What is it, Mr, Wright?”
WsiGHT rose, picked up his suit-
case, opened it and took out a small
cube, about eight inches on a side,
made of some light-absorbent red
material. Four men edged nervously
away from it.
“These gentlemen,” he began,
“have seen only part of the things
this device can do. I’m going to
demonstrate to you the delicacy of
control that is possible with it.” He
made an adjustment with a tiny
knob on the side of the cube, set it
on the edge of the president’s desk.
“You have asked me more than
once if this is my invention or if I am
representing someone. The latter is
true. It might also interest you to
know that the man who controls this
cube is right now several thousand
miles from here. He, and he alone,
can prevent it from detonating now
that I”— he pulled Iris detonator out
of the suitcase and pressed a button
— “have done this. It will explode
64
ASTOUNDING, SCIENCE-FICTION
the way the one we dropped from
the plane did, completely destroying
this city and everything in it, in just
four hours. It will also explode” —
he stepped back and threw a tiny
switch on his detonator — “if any
moving object comes within three
feet of it or if anyone leaves this
rmim but me — it can be compensated
for that. If, after I leave, I am. mo-
lested, it will detonate as soon as a
hand is laid on me. No bullets can
kill me fast enough to prevent me
from setting it off.”
The three army men were silent.
One of them swiped nervously at the
beads of cold sweat on his forehead.
The others did not move. The presi-
dent said evenly,
“What’s your proposition?”
“A very reasonable one. My em-
ployer does not work in the open, for
obvious reasons. All he wants is
your agi'eement tO' caiTy out his or-
ders; to appoint the cabinet mem-
bers he chooses, to throw your influ-
ence in any way he dictates. The
public — Congress — anyone else—
need never know anything about it.
I might add that if you agree to this
proposal, this ’bomb,’ as you call it,
will not go off. But you can be sure
that thousands of them are planted
all over the country. You will never
know when you are near one. If you
disobey, it means instant annihila-
tion for you and everyone else within
three or four square miles.
“In three hours and fifty minutes
— that will be at precisely seven
o’clock — there is a commercial radio
progTam on Station RPRS. You will
cause the a.nnouncer, after his sta-
tion identification, to say ‘Agreed.’
It was pass unnoticed by all but my
employer. There is no use in having
me followed; my work is done. I
shall never see nor contact my em-
ployer again. That is all. Good
afternoon, gentlemen!”
Wright closed his suitcase with a
businesslike snap, bowed, and left
the room. Four men sat frozen, star-
ing at the little red cube.
“Do you think he can do all he
says?” asked the president.
The three nodded mutely. The
president reached for his phone.
There was an eavesdropper to all
of the foregoing. Conant, squatting
behind his gi’eat desk in the vault,
where he had his sanctum sanctorum,
knew nothing of it. But beside him
was the compact bulk of Kidder’s
radiophone. His presence switched
it on, and Kidder, on his island,
blessed the day he had thought of
that device. He had been meaning
to call Conant all morning, but was
very hesitant. His meeting with the
young engineer Johansen had im-
pressed him strongly. The man was
such a thorough scientist, possessed
of such complete delight in the work
he did, that for the first time in his
life Kidder found himself actually
wanting to see someone again. But
lie feared for Johansen’s life if he
brought him to the laboratory, for
Johansen’s work was done on the-
island, and Conant would most cer-
tainly have the engineer killed if he
heard of his visit, feiwing that Kid-
der would influence him to sabotage
the great transmitter. And if Kid-
der went to the power plant he would
probably be shot on sight.
All one day Kidder wrangled with
himself, and finally determined to
call Conant. Fortunately he gave no
signal, but turned up the volume on
the receiver when the little red light
told him that Conaiit’s transmitter
was faiictioniag. Curious, he heard
everything that occuwed in the presi-
dent’s chamber three thoiisan,d miles
away. Horrified, he realized what
Conant’s engineers had done. Built
into tiny containers were tens of
MICROCOSMIC GOD
6S
thousands of power receivers. They
had no power of their own, but, by
remote control, could draw on any
or all of the billions of horsepower
the huge plant on the island was
broadcasting.
Kidder stood in front of ' liis re-
ceiver, speechless. There was noth-
ing he could do. If he devised some
means of destroying the power plant,
the government would certainly step
ill and take over the island, and then
- — what would happen to him and his
precious Neoterics?
Another sound grated out of the
receiver — a commercial radio pro-
gram. A few bars of music, a man’s
voice advertising stratoiine fares on
the installment plan, a short silence,
then:
“Station RPBS, voice of the na-
tion’s. Capitol, District of South
Colorado.”
The three-second pause was inter-
minable.
“The time is exactly . . . er . . .
agreed. The time is exactly seven
p. m.. Mountain Standard Time.”
Then came a half-insane chuckle.
Kidder had difficulty : believing it
was Conant. A phone clicked. The
banker’s voice;
“Bill? All set.. Get out there with
your squadron and bomb up the
island. Keep away from the plant,
but cut the rest of it to ribbons. Do
it quick and get out of there.”
Almost, hysterical with fear, Kid-
der rushed about the room and then
s.liot out tlie door and across the com-
pound. There were five liimdred in-
nocent wo.rkmen in barracks a quar-
ter mile from the plant. Conant
didn’t need them now, and he didn’t
need Kidder. The only safety for
anyone’ was in the plant itself, and
Kidder wouldn’t leave his Neoterics
to be bombed. He flung himself up
the stairs and to the nearest teletype.
He banged out, “Get me a defense. _
I want an impenetrable shield.. Ur-
gent!”
The words rippled out from under
his fingers in the functional script of
the Neoterics. Kidder didn’t think
of what he wrote, didn’t really visu-
alize the thing lie ordered. But he
had done what he could. He’d have
to leave them now, get to the bar-
racks, warn those men. He ran up
the path toward the plant, flung
himself over the white line that
marked death to' those who crossed
it.
A SQtJADKON of nine clip-winged,
inosquito-iiosed planes rose out of a
cove on the mainland. There was no
sound from the engines, for there
were no engines. Each plane was
powered with a tiny receiver and
drew, its unmarked, light-a.bsorbent
wings through the air with power
from the island. In a matter of min-
utes they,- raised the island. The
squadron leader Spoke briskly into a
microphone.
“Take the barracks first. Clean
’em up, Then work south.”
Johansen was alone on a small hill
near . the center of the island. He
carried . a camera., and though he
knew pretty well that his chances of
ever getting ashore again were prac-
tically,, nonexistent, he liked a.ngle
shots of his tower, and took innumer-
able pictures. The first he knew of
the planes was when he heard their
whining dive over the barracks. He
stood transfixed, saw a shower of
bombs' hurtled down and turn the
barracks into a smashed ruin of bro-
ken wood, metal and bodies. The
picture ' of Kidder’s earnest face
flashed into his mind. Poor little
guy— -if they ever bombed his end of
the island he would — But his tower!
Were, they going to bomb the plant?
.He watched, utterly appalled, as
the planes flew out tO' sea, cut back
66
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
and dove again. They seemed to be
working south . At the third dive he
was sure of it. Not knowing what
he could do, he nevertheless turned
and ran toward Kidder’s place. He
rounded a turn in the trail and col-
lided violently with the little bio-
chemist. Kidder’s face was scarlet
with exertion, and he was the most
terrified-looking object Johansen had
ever seen.
Kidder waved a hand north-
ward. “Conant!” he screamed over
the uproar. “It’s Conant! He’s go-
ing to kill us all!”
“The plant?” said Johansen, turn-
ing pale.
“It’s safe. He won’t touch that!
But . . . my place . . . what about
all those men?”
“Too late!” shouted Johansen.
“Maybe I can — • Come on!” called
Kidder, and was off down thp trail,
heading south.
Johansen pounded after him. Kid-
der’s little short legs became a blur
as the squadron swooped overhead,
laying its eggs in the spot where they
had met.
As they burst out of the woods,
Johansen put on a spurt, caught up
with the scientist and knocked him
sprawling not six feet from the white
line.
“Wh . . . wh— ”
“Don’t go any farther, you fool!
Your own damned force field — it’ll
kill you!”
“Force field? But — I came
through it on the way up — Here.
Wait. If I can — ” Kidder began
hunting furiously about in the grass.
In a few seconds he ran up to the
line, clutching a large grasshojjper in
his hand. He tossed it over. It
lay still.
“See?” said Johanesn. “It — ”
“Look! It jumped! Come on! I
don’t know what went wrong, un-
less the Neoterics shut it off. They
generated that field — I didn’t.”
“Neo— huh?”
“Never mind,” snapped the bio-
chemist, and ran.
They pounded gasping up the
steps and into the Neoterics’ control
room. Kidder clapped his eyes to a
telescope and shrieked in glee.
“They’ve done it! They’ve done it!”
“Who’s—”
“My little people! The Neoterics!
They’ve made the impenetrable
shield! Don’t you see — it cut
through the lines of force that start
up that field out there! Their gen-
erator is still throwing it up, but the
vibrations can’t get out! They’re
safe! They’re safe!” And the over-
wrought hermit began to cry. Jo-
hansen looked at him pityingly and
shook his head.
“Sure — you’re little men are all
right. But we aren’t,” he added as
the floor shook at the detonation of
a bomb.
Johansen closed his eyes, got a
grip on himself and let his curiosity
overcome his fear. He stepped to
the binocular telescope, gazed down
it. There was nothing there but a
curved sheet of gray material. He
had never seen a gray quite like that.
It was absolutely neutral. It didn’t
seem soft and it didn’t seem hard,
and to look at it made his brain reel.
He looked up.
Kidder was pounding the keys of
a teletype, watching the blank. yellow
tape anxiously.
“I’m no^ getting through to them,”
he whimpered. “I don’t know what’s
the mat — Oh, of courser
“What?”
“The shield is absolutely impene-
trable! The teletype impulses can’t
get through or I could get them to
extend the screen over the. building
— over the whole island! There’s
nothing those people can’t do!”
MICEOCOSMIC GOD
67
‘TTe’s crazy,” Johansen said under
his breath. ‘‘Poor little — ”
The teletype began clicking
sharply. Kidder dove at it, practi-
cally embraced it. He read off the
tape as it came out. Johansen saw
the characters, but they meant noth-
ing to him. I
“Almighty,” Kidder read falter-
ingly, “pray haAm mercy on us and
be forbearing until we have said our
say. Without orders we have low-
ered the screen you ordered us to
raise. We are lost, 0 great one. Our
screen is truly impenetrable, and so
cut off your words on the word ma-
chine. We haAm never, in the
memory of any Neoteric, been with-
out your word before. Forgive us
our action. We will eagerly await
your answer.”
Kidder’s fingers danced over the
keys. “You can look now,” he
gasped. “Go on — the telescope!”
Johansen, trying to ignore the
whine of sure death from above,
looked.
He saw what looked like land —
fantastic fields under cultivation, a
settlement of some sort, factories,
and — beings. EA^erything moved
with incredible rapidity. He coiddn’t
see one of the inhabitants except as
darting pinky-white streaks. Fasci-
nated, he stared for a long minute.
A .sound behind him made him whirl.
It was Kidder, rubbing his hands to-
gether briskly. There was a broad
smile on his face.
“They did it,” he said happily.
“You see.?”
Johansen didn’t see until he be-
gan to realize that there was a tiead
silence outside. He ran to a window.
You can sweeten your breath fifty times or more with one
five-cent package of Sen-Sen, the tastiest, handiest breath
SAveetener of them all.
Yes, Sen-Sen is really a bargain, but it does the job quickly
and thoroughly. Bad breath due to onions, liquor, smoking,
tooth decay, or any other cause, Sen-Sen sweetens swiftly
and pleasantly.
Get Sen-Sen today. In five and ten cent packages. You’ll
delight in its delicious oriental flavor.
AST— S
68
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
It was night outside — the blackest
night — when it should have been
dusk. “What happened.>^”
“The Neoterics,” said Kidder, and
laughed like a child. “My friends
downstairs there. They threw up
the impenetrable shield over the
whole island. We can’t be touched
now!”
And at Johansen’s amazed ques-
tions, he launched into a description
of the race of beings below them.
Outside the shell, things hap-
pened. Nine airplanes suddenly
went dead-stick. Nine pilots glided
downward, powerless, and some fell
into the sea, and some struck the
miraculous gray shell that loomed in
place of an island; slid oft and sank.
And ashore, a man named Wright
sat in a car, half dead with fear,
while government men surrounded
him, approached cautiously, daring
instant death from a now-dead
source.
In a room deep in the White
House, a high-ranking army officer
shrieked, “I can’t stand it any more!
I can’t!” and leaped up, snatched a
red cube off the president’s desk,
ground it to ineffectual litter under
his shining boots.
And in a few days they took a bro-
ken old man away from the bank
and put him in an asylum, where he
died within a week.
The shield, you see, was truly irn-
THE
penetrable. The power plant was
untouched and sent out its beams;
but the beams could not get out, and
anything powered from the plant
went dead. The story never became
public, although for some years there
was heightened naval activity off the
New England coast. The navy, so
the story went, had a new target
range out there— a great hemi-ovoid
of gray material. They bombed it
and shelled it and rayed it and
blasted all around it, but never even
dented its smooth surface.
Kidder and Johansen let it stay
there. They were happy enough
with their researches and their Neo-
tei'ics. They did iiot hear or feel the
shelling, for the shield was truly im-
penetrable. They synthesized their
food and their light and air from the
materials at hand, and they simply
didn’t care. They were the only sur-
vivors of the bombing, with the ex-
ception of three poor maimed devils
that died soon afterward.
All this happened many years ago,
and Kidder and Johansen may be
alive today, and they may be dead.
But that doesn’t matter too much.
The important thing is that that
great gray shell will bear watching.
Men die, but races live. Some day
the Neoterics, after innumerable gen-
erations of inconceivable advance-
ment, will take down their shield.and
come forth. When I think of that
I feel frightened.
END.
m
Nkxt montli, Anson MacDonald presents a story about an irresistible
weapon — ‘"Solution Unsatisfactory,” and the title is the Editor’s. Mac-
Donald, rather dissatisfied himself, called it “Foreign Policy.” The point
is that the author’s solution to the problem raised in the story — that of
a nation, our nation, in possession of an irresistible, but easily imitated
weapon — is not tenable. Furthermore, it isn’t a pleasant solution anyway.
But the trouble is, there doesn’t seem to be any solution save the one Mac-
Donald advances — and that one is one no American could accept with
equanimity. It’s dictatorship, in fact, in the harshest, most stringent
form possible, with a super-police force empowered to deal life and death
to whole cities at their discretion.
The story’s a challenge as it stands. There is no irresistible weapon
now, of course, and all the history of war has shown that cries of “It’s ir-
resistible!” have been false. But, as MacDonald points out in his story,
the little boy cried “Wolf! Wolf!” imtil when the wolf came nobody be-
lieved it. But the wolf did come.
And MacDonald suggests that the weapon will come — and come in
about three years. Personally, I’m most desperately afraid he’s abso-
lutely correct.
Read the yarn, and let’s have your suggestions as to how to get a
satisfactory solution that does not involve either, (a) , a dictatorship and
a super-police force of the most ruthless and autocratic kind imaginable
to preserve any remnant of civilization as we know it or, (b) , a chaos
ending only when the simplest industrial facilities — even the one-man shop
— have been wiped out. The Editor.
Mmui LfleoiTfli
Since, on the new rating system the total number of votes alone doesn’t
determine which story wins, it is possible to rate articles and stories to-
gether. Stanley R, Short’s discussion of the klystron is rated with the
stories. It rated well, and in doing so squeezed out “Magic City,” by
Nelson S. Bond which wound up with a point score of 4.5. The standings:
Place
Story
Author
Score
1.
Sixth Column
Anson MacDonald
1..S8
g.
“Crooked House”
Robert Heinlein
a.l
3.
Best-Laid Scheme
L. Sprague de Camp
a. 87
4.
The Klystron (article)
Stanley R. Short
3.5
5.
Completely Automatic
Theodore Sturgeon
3.9
The Editor.
Tkey e&ughf something that time — something
more than they wanted. And general, scram-
bled hell broke loose on the ship as a result!
lilustt'atec! by Schneeman
“Close haul, men. Let him hit
the net — that does it!”
Spacesuited men clinging to the
Argonaut’s life line^ gTipped the net
tighter as their prey floated into it.
A reddish-white globe ten feet in
diameter, it evidenced life only by
a rhythmic swelling and shrinking
of its bulk, like an animated bellows
there in the airless reaches of space.
“Hold all! Close around now — ”
The exultant voice of Matt Brend,
captain, fell silent in astonishment.
For the thing had breasted the net
— and was flowing through it like
water through a sieve. Whereupon
eight men held slack lines, and upon
the ether was borne a, torrent of
spaceworthy oaths. Men who knew
Matt Brend, smiled grimly and
reached for the repulsors at their
foclts
“Follow me. Blast!” The words
cracked like shots. “Ahoy, Argo-
naut! Two inductors full tension
on the net lines. We’ll see if the
thing can eat juice.”
Again the net was flung into a
cupped semicircle across the globe’s
path, mesh aglow with cathode cur-
rent from the ship’s generators, men
and lines pricked out against black
space by pale, fiery discharge fringes.
The globe kept on. Men braced
themselves for the strain that this
time must come.
Now!
From eight men rose howls of
anguish. Brendf pale behind his
helmet, bellowed orders in a voice
taut with pain as the penetrating
cathode current touched to the quick
nerves no man is aware of until
caught in an open “cat” line.
“Juice off. Argonaut!” And again
Brend voiced those choice expletives
that were the pride of his hard-
bitten crew, for even now, with the
current still on, the reddish-white
globe was drifting serenely through
the charged net.
Once beyond the mesh, it paused
beckoningly.
“I’ll be a tadpole. Cap, if the thing
isn’t thumbing its nose at us,” mur-
mui’ed one man as the agonizing
cuiTent died out.
“Bilge-dust!” growled Brend.
“What I’d like to know is how it
opened the net circuit without dam-
aging the mesh.”
“Maybe it’s that superhuman in-
telligence you’re fond of telling us
about,” mocked a third voice. “In
that case, captain, you can ask it —
after you’ve caught it.”
Brend gyunted, rubbed his legs
and thighs to restore cii'culation im-
peded by the cathode shock.
“Belay the net,” he snapped.
“ ’Lectronbars out.”
Skillfully the great net was folded
away. Along the lines slid the elec-
tronbars, gaunt of barrel and crazy
71
The thing — whatever it was— was finally maneu-
vered into the catching net and hauled inside.
with inductance drums and capacity an electron barrage sprang into be-
batteries. Each man unsnapped one ing from the muzzles of the electron-
from the line and cradled it in one bars. Slowly and in unison, the
arm. Expertly, the eight hurled eight closed in.
theniselve.s, by means of repulsors, And the globe, on the alert now,
five hundred feet beyond their prey, retreated before them,
then braked and faced about. At Steadily the gap between men and
Brend’s order the dazzling white of ship narrowed. - In the gigantic cup
72
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
of the barrage the globe spun and
darted. The electronic field hemmed
it in, hurled it back in shorter and
shorter rushes, pinned it at last
against the ArgonawCs hull.
“Cargo!” shouted Brend.
Skillfully trained men pushed their
captive into the cargo port, where
others took over, and soon tbe globe
was safely behind the tight door of
Hold B, in that part of the ship
evacuated of air for the handling of
specimens taken in space.
“Congratulations, captain,” re-
marked the voice that had spoken
before. “That looked for a while
like a tough assignment.”
Brend turned from Hold B’s ob-
servation window to see John Storm
at his elbow. “It was just a bit too
easy,” he answered curtly.
“Come now, you don’t think it
played into your hands deliberately?
You don’t think this is your super-
human entity at last?”
“We don’t know a thing about it,”
replied Brend.
“Hope dies hard, doesn’t it?”
countered Storm. “Even in men
like you, who should be first to real-
ize that the old hopes are doomed.
Ever since man first dreanjed of
reaching other worlds, it was to hope
of finding a wisdom greater Than his
own and willing to spare him the
pain of learning by bitter experi-
ence. But it wasn’t in the cards.
Venus was found peopled by cretins.
Mars is an empty dust bowl, its
canals mere tide rips caused by van-
ished moons before its crust cooled.
Elsewhere life is common enough,
but man still has almost a monopoly
on intelligence. I’m afraid your su-
per-intellect just doesn’t exist.”
Brend was staring into Hold B. .
The thing rested, a, bubble of un-
known substance, pulsing with in-
scrutable life, in midspace. He
switched off the fluorescents; in the
dark the globe shone faintly.
“I’ve taken over two hundred
specimens,” he said slowly, “and
never felt as I do about this one.
I could almost believe the thing is
laughing at us, that it could escape
through the hull if it liked, that it
stays at will — and at our expense.”
Storm chuckled. “Who says
spacemen are unimaginative? But
if you put this thing above nineteen
on the Baum scale, you’re flattering
it. Of course, its control of the
cathode circuit was remarkable, but
so was the electric eel’s method pf
stunning its prey, old a million years
before Volta built the galvanic pile.
This creature lives in space, in an
environment of cosmic rays, free
electrons, and the like. Why
shouldn’t it have a limited control
of subatomic forces? Such control
needn’t argue intelligence any more
than does the eel's generation of
electricity.”
Brend shrugged, led the way
through the air lock. In the .ship
proper he doffed his helmet, reveal-
ing a shock of red hair, an old-
young face tanned by watches be-
hind unscreened observation ports
and engraved by wind and weather
of more than one planet.
“Would you be willing to turn it
loose?” he asked Storm abruptly.
The other laid down his helmet
with exaggerated care. “Do you
feel well, captain?”
“I mean it,” said Brend. “I hired
out to take specimens for you, but
I’d feel better if that thing \yeren’t
aboard.”
Storm’s mocking good nature sud-
denly vanished. A man of about
Brend’s age, sandy-haired and blue-
eyed, the set of his jaw now became
challenging.
“The specimen stays,” he said
flatly.
THE SCEAMBLER
Brenti slinigged. “If you say so.
I’ll be OH tlie bridge, if you should
change your mind. We’re laying by
a couple of hours for Ferguson to
make some observations.”
Storm’s answering grunt was more
eloquent tlian speech.
No DREADNOUGHT commander
could have found fault with the
Argonmit^^ bridge deck. The ship
had been Brend’s for five years, and
unconsciously he straightened a lit-
tle as he entered the control com-
partment, inhabited at that moment
by Calloway, the second officer, and
the ship’s cat, Comet, a plain Earth
feline of doubtful ancestry.
“Ferguson says he’ll be a couple
of hours still,” reported Calloway.
“Never took him that long be-
fore.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Brend.
“We’ll check our bearings mean-
while. What’s our drift?”
Calloway gave it and Brend
swung' the transit in its gymbals for
a sight on Jupiter. The cat scrubbed
affectionately against his legs as he
read the transit settings to Callo-
way, who punched a computing
tape, ran it through the calculator,
and announced the result.
Brend swung around for a check
reading on the Sun. “Forty, sixteen
minutes, ten seconds. Azimuth six
point two — ”
Calloway looked up in astonish-
ment as Brend stopped. The tran-
sit dipped at an absurd angle, Brend
was staring foolishly at his wrists.
His eyes came up, met Calloway’s
in blank amazement.
The cat miaowed piteously of a
sudden. Brend backed away from
it, looked at Calloway like a man
about to burst, opened his mouth
twice without making a sound.
“Gord alive! What the divil does
ra
this mean, sor?” he asked the aston-
ished Junior officer.
At the moment Brend stepped
upon the bridge, deck engineer
Hobbs was cursing in fluent engine-
room English, the stupidity of oilers
in general and Hoskins in particular.
“Number S runnin’ dry, blast you,
and the cap’n may be wantin’ juice
any minute. Look at them bearin’s.
’Ot as hell and twice as shameful!”
Obediently, Hoskins went to work,
thrusting himself and a long-snouted
oil can halfway into the whining in-
tricacies of the machine. Hobbs
turned to his switchboard. For
minutes the snarl and snap of oscil-
lating inductors, the hum of air cir-
culators and alternators, were the
only sounds in the engine room.
And then it happened.
Floskins straightened like a spring
let go, leaped wildly back from that
maze of flashing levers. There was
a thwack of metal as the oil can was
knocked from his hand, to roll into
the drip jaan and be hammered flat
by the reciprocating field yoke, while
the oiler stared dumbly.
“Seein’ snakes, ’Oskins? Martian
vipers, maybe?” suggested Hobbs
caustically. “All thumbs you are.
Finish up now, while I phone the
bridge ready-all.”
Grumbling, he closed the phone
cubby door against the noises of the
engine room. He could have re-
ported by bridge signal, but when
time permitted, took delight in phon-
ing the “cap’ll” personally. So
Hobbs failed to notice that Hoskins
did not finish oiling, but stood as
though dazed. The fact escaped
Hobbs even when he stepped out of
the cubby, a sorely preoccupied
man.
“You know wot?” he asked. “I
says to the cap’n will he have a
thousand kilos on the stern plates,
n
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
like usual, and ’e says, ‘I dunno.’
And 1 says wot the hell, only in
other words, and ’e says, how should
’e know? I says, ‘Sorry, cap’n, I
didn’t get that.’ ’E comes back,
‘I don’t either, and I ain’t the cap’n.’
And ’e hung up! Wot I want to
know, if ’e ain’t Cap’n Brend — and
I know the cap’n’s voice, mind you
— then who the devil is Cap’n
Brend?”
The oiler turned a haggard face.
“I am,” he answ'ered.
Thirty minutes later the men of
the Argonaut assembled in the mess
room, most of them curiously diffi-
dent and unwilling to meet one an-
other’s eye^. Brend found no need
to ask for silence. It was already
complete.
“Men,” he began, “something al-
mighty queer is going on aboard this
ship. I’ve had the devil of a time
getting you all together — and some
of you know why.”
“Wot he means,” interrupted the
man who seemed to be Brend, “is
that I ain’t the captain and he ain’t
me. Each of us is the other fel-
low.”
Brend nodded, curiously shy in
his enforced role of oiler. There was
a general clearing of throats. Car-
son stepped forward.
“Yes, Cai^on?” urged Brend.
The man licked his lips. “I . . .
I’m. not Carson, cap’n. Thought
you’d like to know. I’m Upton.”
A voice spoke from the rear. “I’m
Carson.”
The silence deepened.
“What’s this?” snapped Storm.
“What are you trying to put over,
Brend?”
“I’d be glad if you could tell us,”
Brend retorted. “The fact is some-
thing is playing hell with us psycho-
logically. We ought to find out how
fat it’s gone^ — take a sort of ‘Who’s
Who.’ I’ll call the roll—” The
stolid features of Hoskins suddenly
relaxed. It was the squeaky voice
of Ferguson, the astrogator, that fin-
ished: “ — if you’ll let me have my
notebook, Hoskins.”
“You still Brend?” First Officer
Roth inquired bluntly.
“Certainly,” replied “Ferguson.”
“Look at your sleeves.”
Brend stared at the star-and-sex-
tant insignia. “Merciful heavens!
Now I’m Feiguson. I mean, I'm
Brend, but — ”
He relapsed into unprintable in-
vective. Storm got up and left the
room.
“Roll call is in order,” snapped
the pseudo-Brend suddenly. “An-
swer to your actual identity, regard-
less of anything else.”
He paused to search his pockets.
“Notebook’s on my ... on your
left hip,” supplied the real Brend.
“You aren’t Hoskins any longer?”
“I’m Calloway, of course,” was
the reply. “No! Great galaxies,
now Z’uc switched!”
“Call the roll,” barked Roth.
“Very well. Captain Brend?”
“Here,” squeaked Ferguson’s
voice.
“Bates?”
“Here,” responded Kemp, .an
oiler.
“Hobbs?”
“ ’Ere,” answered Bates. ‘‘God
’elp me.”
“Upton?”
“Present,” replied Bates again.
“You just answered as Hobbs.”
“Can’t help it,” the man returned.
“I’m Upton.”
Calloway closed the notebook.
“We may as well give that up,” he
said bitterly. “This is a case for
Mr. Storm.”
“Storm’s gone,” volunteered a
voice.
Brend swore whole-heartedly.
THE SCRAMBLER
75
proving beyond all doubt that lie
was Brend, although the oaths came
strangely in Ferguson’s high-pitched
voice.
“Hell’s bells,” said somebody.
“Look at Jimson!”
x\ll eyes turned to the big Negro
cook. His were closed, and he was
rocking back and forth where he sat,
fists clenched, lips drawn back to re-
veal white teeth in an evil snarl.
Brend leaped up, locked an arm
under the Negro’s chin from behind.
“Four of you grab his arms and legs.
Never seen space fever before?”
They were scarcely in time. At
tlieir touch, Jimson’s eyes opened,
d’he great body gathered itself,
lunged forward despite Brend’s
throttling grip. Again and again the
men holding the Negro’s legs were
kicked away. His bloodshot eyes
were open and staring. It was five
minutes before his eyes closed and
tlie convulsions ceased.
“He won’t have them again,” said
Brend, “but he’s dangerous. We’ll
have to lock him up. Wonder if he’s
really Jimson?”
“He suttinly ain’t, suh!” indig-
nantly offered the voice of Hoskins
in the accents of Jimson.
Nobody answered. Jimson, the
cook, was least of all likely to con-
tract the homicidal madness that
came from staring into space.
“Where is Storm?” asked Callo-
way-Brend. “He might help.”
The Negro’s eyes o^jened again, no
sanity in them. He looked around
the tense circle of faces and his lips
lifted in the characteristic leer of the
spacemad.
“I’m Ferguson,” he said suddenly.
“Dale Ferguson, astrogator. Hell is
where the Sun is. Nobody knows
I’m dead. But Fm going to kill
them. Kill them all. And I won’t
tell!”
He grinned wolfishly, suddenly
closed his eyes again.
“Sure, Dale, you’ll kill them,” said
Brend soothingly, his glance com-
manding silence. “But how? How
can you kill them? You aren’t very
big. But, of course, you’re astroga-
tor.”
“Ferguson, astrogator,” mumbled
the Negro. “It was easy. All
planned beforehand. They’ll all be
as dead as I am — but I’m safe. I
can’t die.”
“Of course not,” soothed Brend.
“Tell us what you planned.”
There was utter silence as the
maniac’s eyes shot open and stared
suspiciously around the mute circle
of men. Ferguson spacemad! The
man whose calculations were re-
sponsible, more than any other’s,
for the safety of the ship! He might
have been mad for days, cunningly
plotting, with an insane conviction
of his own immortality, the death of
them all.
“Meteor!” whispered the Negro’s
lips. “Ninety-four hours away when
I spotted it. Big enough to smash
them dead. I killed them.”
“When did it happen?” Brend
murmured.
“I don’t remember — only an hour
now. It’s beautiful, that meteor.
Beautiful as death. The ship’s drift-
ing across its course.” The mad-
man’s voice rose to a scream. “I’ll
kill anybody who says it isn’t so.”
Brend stood up. “That’s enough.
Lock him up — we’ll treat him later.
Calloway, Roth — to the bridge deck
with me. The rest of you get to
your flight stations.”
CALLOWi^AY, still as Brend, and
Roth in the person of Marston, an
oiler, accompanied Brend to the ob-
servation bridge. It took them
twenty minutes to compute the
course of the barely discernible dot
76
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
approaching from sunward. An
astrogator could have done it in ten.
“He wasn’t lying,” said Brend,
gently kicking aside the cat, annoy-
ingly intent upon affectionate ges-
tures. “They rarely do at that stage.
We'll get under way at once,”
He punched the engine-room tele-
graph, was relieved to get back the
“ready” signal. At his feet. Comet
set up a dismal caterwauling. He
reached for the “power-forward”
button.
Sudden dizziness assailed him, so
that he almost fell against the sig-
nal panel— but it wasn’t the signal
panel. He was leaning heavily
against the brass railing before the
engine-room switchboard. From
their stations before the inductance
switches, Hobbs and Carson stared
at him cnriously. He was sure they
weren’t Hobbs and Carson. Look-
ing down at his own sleeves, he saw
the twin-comet insignia of a second
officer. He was, for the moment,
Calloway. But Calloway had prob-
ably last been Hoskins. And Hos-
kins must now be —
Brend swore. A grin flickered
over the pseudo-Hobb’s face.
“Thanks, captain. I’m Roth.”
“You’re dead!” screamed the third/
man suddenly., “You’ve got to un-
derstand you’re dead, all of you — -
except me.”
His lips writhed, and as Roth
tried to approach him from behind
he whirled, caught up and bran-
dished a long wrench.
“You just don’t want to die!
There’ll be a meteor and fiery par-
tides when it hits — but first I must
see that you don’t get away.”
He stared about wildly, then with
one swift movement, thrust the
wrench through the ventilating cage
of a small high-tension alternator.
Brend cried out hoarsely. There
was a tremendous crack, a flash that
lit up the engine room like a flood
lamp for an instant, and “Carson”
sank to the floor.
Brend at once cut out the turbine
drive to the alternator, and both he
and Roth turned to the stricken
man. There was a faint pulse, but
his face was bluish.
“Adrenalin!” ordered Brend.
Roth found the drug in the en-
gine-room medicine chest and Brend
injected it. After a minute, “Car-
son” opened his eyes.
“Mr. Calloway! What’s up with
me.? I feel like I crossed a live line,
sure,” he said.
“You did. Who are you?”
“Hobbs, o’ course. I ’ope noth-
ing’s damaged — ”
He fell silent at the glance that
passed between the others.
“Jimson’s locked up — but Fergu-
son is somebody else by now,”
snapped Brend. “He may keep
changing. Pass orders that the men
are to go about only in pairs — and
to watch one another. May as well
let Jimson go.”
Roth departed on his errand.
Brend helped Hobbs to his feet,
pointed to the damaged alternator.
“Ferguson’s work. Can we move
without it?”
“No, sir!” said Hobbs vehemently.
“That’s the exciter for the inductor
fields. But maybe T can fix it.”
“Get busy. You have about thirty
minutes.”
“They’re watching each other,”
reported Roth, as Brend re-entered
the control compartment. “Fergu-
son turned up as Kemp for a minute
and tried to kill Hoskins, but when
they pulled him off he wasn’t Fergu-
son any more. There’s no telling,
of course, who he’ll be next. Maybe
we ought to give everybody a shot
of metrazol.”
“And have all hands in convul-
THE SCRAMBLER
sioiis? No, we can’t treat Ferguson
until he stays Ferguson. Meanwhile,
nobody must be allowed to stray off
by himself — has Storm turned up?”
“IVe put four men to searching
for liim.” .
“Good. Let’s check that meteor
again.”
As Roth pushed open the door of
the observation compartment, a
furry streak launched itself from the
top of the calculator, to land clawing
on liis shoulder. He cursed with
paiu and indignantly ijulled Comet
off, as the cat’s claw^s found flesh.
It scampered in circles for a mo-
ment, then rubbed heavily against
Breud’s legs, whining urgently.
Carefully the two men rechecked
the course of tlie meteor, Brend at
the telescope and Roth at the cal-
culator. The first officer suddenly
swore with vexation. Brend looked
up to see Comet, again on top of the
macliiue, making passes with one
paw at Roth’s head.
“She’s driving me nutty,” Roth
groaned. “Can’t we lock her up?”
“Have to catch her first,” re-
marked Brend, for tire cat had
jumped to the floor and backed into
a far corner.
“We’ve found Storm, captain,” re-
ported Bates, entering with Jimson.
Between them they supported ■ the
figure of Storm.
“If lie is Storm,” added Brend.
“Well, who are you?”
I'lie man stared at him calmly,
but 'made no reply.
“That’s how he’s been,” said
Bales. “Won’t say a word. Can’t
walk, either — if we were in port I’d
say he was drunk. We found him
asleep on top of the main condenser.
D’you think he’s — ”
“I don’t know,” said Brend heav-
ily. “I'he two of you stay with him.
If he begins to act like Ferguson,
you know what to do.” He stooped
77
suddenly, snatched up Comet, who
had been rubbing stiff-legged against
his ankles. “Somebody lock her up.
She’s a damned nuisance.”
Jimson took the wriggling, squall-
ing cat, and wdth Bates and the
pseudo-Storm left the compartment.
“Looks bad,” admitted Brend,
when he and Roth had finished their
computations. “Fourteen minutes to
go — for Heaven’s sake, Roth, don’t
take it like that!”
The pseudo-Hobbs had leaped
from his chair before the calculator,
his lips working. Brend backed
against the w^all, groped for the small
brass-bound telescope affixed there.
“And ’ow^ should I take it, sor?”
rasped the other. “How’s a man
to do ’is work when he’s beside ’im-
self ’alf the time?”
Brend almost grinned with relief.
“You’re yourself now, Hobbs. I
hope you’re done with those re-
pairs.”
“Done!” snorted Hobbs. “Not by
’alf we ain’t, w^ot with bobbin’
around like we all are. Now I’ve got
to go back. Wish I never came up
’ere in the first place. It’s plain ’el!,
sor,”
“Aye,” agreed Brend. “And if
that exciter isn’t running in thirteen
minutes, it’ll be worse — although I
don’t see how'^ it could be. Send
Roth back here if you find him.”
Hobbs vanished, grumbling.
Shortly Carson appeared. “I’m
Roth, captain. I’ve seen that ex-
citer — no chance of iiatcliing it up
in time. Makes you wish for a cou-
ple of the old rocket tubes.”
“How are the men taking it?”
“Well, Ferguson has them in jit-
ters, of course. Next to him, the
constant shifting of identities seems
to bother them more than the me-
teor. Psychologically, I guess, it
strikes nearer — ”
A protracted and ghastly screech
78
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
cut him off. Brend burst into the
control compartment with Roth at
his heels, to face Jimson, who held
Comet by the scruff of the neck with
one hand and bj" the two hind legs
with the other. A second demoni-
acal howl came from the cat’s throat.
“What is this?” Brend roared at
Bates, who sat with the pseudo-
Storm on the floor.
“Dunno, cap’n. Jimson — he was
Kemp then — w ent off to lock Comet
up. Then he come back with her
5?
“Nobody wants to die,” com-
plained the big Negro. “They won’t
let me kill them. Except the cat.
She can’t stop me.”
His huge fingers clamped around
the little beast’s throat, heedless of
her clawing and her piteous, throt-
tled cries.
“T won’t stand for that,” muttered
Roth, starting forward. Brend
clutched his arm. Marston, in the
doorway behind the Negro, suddenly
caught the big man’s arms from be-
hind. The cat at once leaped to the
floor and scuttled for safety, while
all three men secured the viciously
struggling pseudo- Jimson.
“Just as well this can’t last much
longer,” muttered Roth, with a
glance tow^ard the glassite-inclosed
observation turret. The meteor
could now be plainly seen with the
naked eye, apparently motionless,
despite its terrific head-on speed.
“Eight minutes more — ”
Comet was brushing Brend’s
trouser cuffs vigorously, as though
grateful for even that small respite,
but when Brend looked down at her
she backed away with mincing,
high-lifted steps. Then, when sure
of his attention, she suddenly leaped
full upon the figure of the pseudo-
Storm.
Stoim instantly shrank back, his
lips writhing back as Jimson ’s had a
moment before, breath whistling be-
tween his teeth. Bates chitche<! him
on one side, Brend at the other.
And the cat, leaping back, re-
garded all three with a quizzically
urgent expression.
“Funny,” said Brend. “He looked
like Ferguson for a second.” He
spoke directly to Storm. “Who are
you — not that it’s going to matter,
ten minutes from now, whether you
care to say or not.”
The man made no reply, but de-
liberately yawned, revealing a
mouthful of excellent teeth.
“That’s all he’s done since we
found him,” supplied Bates. “Just
yawn and want to lie down — on his
belly if we’d let him. Cat’s got his
tongue all right — ”
“That’s it!’’ whispered Brend.
“What is?” asked Roth.
For answer Brend seized the cat,
lifted her to the top of the calcula-
tor.
“Are you Storm?’’
Comet nodded her head violently.
Bates and Roth looked on dum-
founded.
“Don’t you see?” asked Brend.
“We were all interchanged with one
another, but Storm was put into the
cat’s body. And the cat in Storm’s
body — ”
Comet nodded in a paroxysm of
agreement.
“You found Storm — or wh.at
looked like Storm,” Brend went on,
“sleeping on top of the condenser.
It’s warm there, and Comet’s favor-
ite spot. She was too puzzle<l by
the bigness of her new body to con-
trol it properly, so she went philo-
sophical and tried to sleep it off.
Storm wasn’t so lucky. He couldn’t
tell anybody he was Storm, and we
THE SCKAMBLER 79
were too confused ourselves to catch
on. When 1 told Jimson to lock up
what r thought was the cat, he
picked that moment to turn into
Ferguson. No wonder Storm
liowled. He knew he was in a bad
spot.”
d'lie cat waved a paw and looked
appealingly at Brend. A moment
later it repeated the motion. With
a gas]) of comprehension, Brend of-
fered it a pencil. The animal cocked
its head at it, then reared up on its
hind legs and stabbed the air fran-
tically with both paws before it was
obliged ,to come down on all fours.
Seeing Brend still puzzled, it jumped
to the floor and miaowed urgently
before a closet under the chart table.
“The tyi^ewriter!” muttered
Brend. Storm had borrowed it once
when his own w'as out of order, and
knew where it was kept. Brend put
the cat and the machine upon the
chart table, and inserted a sheet of
paper.
Standing on three legs, the cat
clumsily tapped out, wdth an occa-
sional wrong letter: “i am storm,
get all hands here quick.”
Brend stared questioningly, where-
upon, the animal added: “rush —
emergency.”
“Maybe were all crazy,” mut-
tered Brend, “but go ahead and do
it, Roth.”
Storm w^as typing again, “hurry,
entity in hold deliberately responsi-
ble for personality changes, inform
all hands — rush.”
The cat paused, looked at Brend
urgently.
Two by twm, the men entered the
control compartment, crowding the
place from wall to wall.
“A man can’t do no work aboard
this ship,” muttered Hobbs darkly.
“If ye’d left me alone another forty
minutes, cap’n, I’d have had that
there exciter hummin’ — ”
“We’ve only got about four,”
Brend interrupted. “Men, as crazy
as it sounds, Mr. Storm was switched
with Comet, here, wTile wdiat looks
like Mr. Storm is simply the cat. .
That’s a fact. Storm has just man-
aged to tell us that the thing in
Hold B is back of the mix-up of iden-
titie,s — ”
“And a big help you were,”
growled Storm, shaking Bates’ hand
from his shoulder. “This farce
might have ended an hour ago if
somebody had listened to me.”
He glowered about in his proper
person, wdiile Comet jumped off the
table and disappeared under a chart
shelf.
“A"ou should all be yourselves
80
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
now,” Storm said. “That was the
understanding — look out!”
There was sudden commotion in
the huddled group of men; it sub-
sided with two husky oilers hanging
to the arms of Ferguson, evidently
himself again and as mad as ever.
“You mean that’s all over.?” a.sked
Brend — as Brend.
“Quite,” replied Storm. “It agreed
to consider the incident closed if I
could manage, while apparently the
cat, to let you know my real identity
and tell you that it was back of the
whole thing.”
“And who is ‘it’.?”
“The thing in Hold B,” snapped
Storm tartly. “Actually it’s a plural
entity, the superhuman intellect
you’ve always believed in, and it
isn’t in Hold B at all. The globe we
see is only a three-dimensional cross
section of its four-dimensional body,
which isn’t actually material. It’s
probably gone from Hold B by now,
incidentally. As you thought,
Brend, it allowed us to take it.”
“How do you know all this.?”
asked Brend.
“I don’t know. I remember walk-
ing out of the mess room, although I
didn’t want to leave. Then there’s
a blank, and later I came to as the
cat. I knew things I couldn’t re-
member learning. It— or they —
were piqued by our treatment of it,
and by my remarks especially.
That was why it picked me for the
goat, I suppose.
“It lives outside our space-time
frame. The globe isn’t native to our
universe at all, but was simply ex-
ploring when we ran across it. Some-
thing about infinite or absolute time
occurred to me, the ultimate of an
infinite series in which it dwells,
whereas we exist consciously in only
one time extension which appears to
us as primary time. Able to move
at will along the infinite serialism of
time, it was able to shift our identi-
ties from outside the time-sequence
normal to us among the space-time
co-ordinates which are our bodies.
I don’t know why it did so, unless to
teach us a lesson. I don’t think it
intended any harm — ”
“Then it slipped up,” said Brend
grimly. “Look!”
All eyes turned to the observation
window. The meteor, an irregular
grayish mass, loomed balefully close.
In utter silence they watched it swell
in af)parent size, with the calm of
men who had faced death in thought
long before and were prepared for
the reality.
“Now!” shrieked Ferguson, grin-
ning horribly. “All going to hell —
except me. Don’t you wish you
were dead, too.?”
“Wish he’d shut up,” muttered
Both. “We could have let the men
draw straws for the nine spacesuits
on board — personally I’ll take mine
quick.”
Brend made no answer. A mist
was forming over his eyes. He
blinked and the mist remained. Be-
tween ship and meteor it thickened,
gleamed with brightening phospho-
rescence. He bit his lips, glanced at
Roth, intently staring through the
port. The mist limned Roth also, a
tangible luminous fog here in the
control compartment.
Tangible! Something more than
mist. Not something that might be
seen or heard. Only the phospho-
rescent fog was visible. But Brend
felt a presence, felt it as simply and
irrevocably as pain is felt. It was
something that required no words.
An ego, of childlike yet gigantic
intellect— childlike because innocent
of evil, gigantic in scope.
A brooding and immutable peace.
“Our brothers!” Space rang with
THE SCRAMBLER
81 .
Ih.e words — or was it the thought of
these words?
Brend never knew. He heard
them plainly, but that might have
been belief following upon percep-
tion. He stared into the effulgence
that dazzling'ly filled the control tur-
ret, and saw only light. But he felt
■ — entity.
‘'Brothers, one of you has said
that we were piqued by your be-
havior, but if he meant angered, he
spoke inaccurately. You thrust
yourself upon us, and in our curi-
osity we altered your conditions of
existence, watched you struggle, and
thwarted your efforts to learn what
your further reactions might be. To
one of you was given a problem,
which he solved, bringing the test
to an end. We had no intent to
harm you, and it is our hope that
you will feel no malice for what we
have done.
“Now we see you faced with what
you believe to be extinction, igno-
rant yet possessed of a courage our
wisdom could not surpass. Ignorant,
for unconsciously your identities ex-
tend throughout the infinite serial-
ism of time even as ours, else we
could not have disassociated those
identities from the bodies to which
they had become accustomed.
“What you call death is therefore
impossible. Nevertheless, it may be
your race has need of such courage
as yours, and yon shall return to tell
of us. Such powers as propel your
ship are warps in the fabric of space,
which we are able to distend or col-
lapse at will. We shall remove what
threatens you. Perhaps we shall
meet again. Life to you, brothers!”
With the last word, the mist van-
ished. The meteor, immense, ines-
capable, all but filled the port.
Brend judged it to be no more than
THE
a mile away. As meteoric speeds
go, a matter of a second or two —
Abruptly a fiery coruscation of
sparks broke out upon it, outlined it
for an instant in cold flame.
The same instant it was gone.
Within the ship, silence held. Si-
lence while long seconds ticked by,
while men stared through the port
and found it incredible that they
were still alive.
Brend looked around and sur-
prised a number of sheepish grins.
“Show’s over,” he said briskly.
“We’ll give Ferguson the metrazol
treatment and have him around to
normal in forty hours or so. Hobbs,
you can finish your repairs now. We
owe you a vote of thanks. Storm. I
wmnder if it would have saved us if
you’d failed.”
“I don’t know,” answered Storm.
“But you did know about the me-
teor all along, or jmu wouldn’t have
been in such a desperate rush.”
“Meteor, hell,” snarled Storm. “I
was sweating blood — and not be-
cause of any damned meteor. The
next time you take a cat aboard,
you’d better investigate her charac-
ter and condition.”
“There’s nothing wrong with
Comet,” said Roth stanchly,
“Might not have been,” Storm
growled, “if we hadn’t stopped at the
Martian fuel depot, where they keep
a cat of their own — the other kind
of cat. I tell you there wasn’t a
minute to lose — and I hope I never
go through anything like that again
as long as I live.”
Brend grinned, snatched up a
flashlight and peered under the
chart shelf. When he stood up to
face Storm, the latter’s features were
a deep red.
“Let’s pass out quietly, men,” said
Brend softly. “Comet has become a
mother!”
END.
82
By IBalcolm ilameson
Or if seemed that way till the commander of
a space rowboat found a gigantic enemy bat-
tleship that was determined to surrender to him!
Illustrated by Jack Binder
At a corner table in Spider Hin- restless, nervous fingers, and scowled
ton’s place on Juno three young about the place in obvious discon-
officers sat. One of them drummed tent. The other two were relaxed
continually on the table top with and appeared to be enjoying them-
siacKEa’s paaflDiSE
SLACKER’S PARADISE
selves as they toyed with the stems
of their glasses and watched the girls
begin to assemble. All three wore
the slender silver badge of the cres-
cent moon as well as the usual in-
signia of the Terrestrial Space Guard.
It was that crescent and what it
signified that was what was so an-
noying to Lieutenant (jg) Alan Mac-
Kay, T.S.G.R.F., Class 5. In the
parlance of officialdom it meant sim-
ply “an officer of limited qualifica-
tions,” but to the impatient young
MacKay and the public at large —
and to the girls who entertained the
Fleet, and to the per.sonnel of the
Fleet itself, especially to the person-
nel of the Fleet itself — it meant un-
qualified, untrained, unfit. It meant
half-baked and incompetent. It
meant that its wearer was quite
likely to be a strutting young ass
masquerading as a Guard Officer,
quite imposing over the tea table,
but a joke in the thermless void.
And Alan MacKay resented that
very much.
It annoyed him exceedingly that
his apparently wonderful luck in
having been commissioned and given
command of an SP boat while still
a junior at Yalnell was atti'ibuted
to the powerful political pull of his
mother some Aunt Clara, For it was
true. With Machiavellian cunning
she had worked every wire to insure
his having the highest possible rank
and the cushiest possible jobs. He
did not know it, though he sus-
pected it from the fate of his monthly
plea for more active duty, but the
jacket that held his service record
at the De]rartraent was plastered
over with little notes clipped to it,
such as, “Do not shift this officer
to other duty without seeing me —
JBH,_ High Admiral,” “PD only,”
meaning planetary duty only, and
the like. Whenever he thought of
his Aunt Clara he cursed her softly
AST— 6
8S
under his breath, and not once did
his conscience trouble him for his
gi’oss ingratitude. ’
The cabaret was beginning to fill
up for the midday jamboree. Two
girls stopped at the table for a mo-
ment. Ensign Hartley had waved
them down just as they came in.
“Sit down,” he invited, “and crook
an elbow with us. We’re off for the
rest of the day.”
“You! Humph,” said one of them,
tossing her head. “You’ll keep for
the dull times. Today thereil be
real sailors here — fighting men.”
She gave a tug at her companion’s
arm. “Come along, deary — you
can’t afford to have them catch ymi
hanging out with planet lice.” They
walked aw^ay.
“You asked for it, you damn fool,”
growled the other ensign, Terrell.
“Didn’t you read the board when
we came in off patrol.!* The Pollux
is coming in. She’s all shot to hell
from that big battle off the Ti’oja.ns,
on her way to Lunar Base for gen-
eral repairs. Every man jack on her
has been given the Nova rosette,
and Captain Bullard rates a diamond
clasp for his Celestial Cross. The
best thing we can do is get out of
here and make ourselves as small as
possible until she shoves off.”
“Yes,” said Lieutenant MacKajq
rising, grim and red of face.
He strode out of the room and into
the locker room where their space-
suits hung. Officers and men from
the eight other SP boats were just
coming in and taking off their armor
so they could go onto the dance floor.
MacKay nodded perfunctorily to
one or two of them, then beckoned
to his own two junior officers to fol-
low him on outside.
“He may inspect us,” he said,
tersely, “get back on board and slick
her up.” To himself he added dis-
gustedly, “we can’t fight, but we can
84
ASTOUNDING SCTF.NCE-TICTTON
sMne brightworfc — as if a maa like
Bullard cared a damn about sliiny
brass!”
For Bullard was to him w'hat he
had eome to be to practically every
young man and boy on the five
planets — an idol. ’^Tio had not
heard of his exploits in this tedious
and long-drawn-out war between the
Federation of Interior Planets and
the Jovian Empire? And now Bul-
lard was here! Alan MacKay winced.
That meant he would have to meet
him, for etiquette was rigorous. All
junior ship commanders had to pay
their respects to any visiting senior.
He was at once elated and ashamed,
for though he was a big, strapping-
fellow with a fine education, he bore
that telltale crescent on his chest —
the stigma of the unfit. What if he
was commanding officer of the TSS
SP S3 If The bawdy songs of the
Service and the old sky-dogs had but
one translation for that “SP.” It
was “Slacker’s Paradise.”
It was in the same gloomy mood
that Lieutenant MacKay watched
the descent of the mighty monster
of the void from alongside his own
tiny craft parked outside the thin
dome of Hebesport. He marveled at
her size, and yet she was being
brought dowui with an apparent ease
and dexterity that amazed him. For
the reports of her damage had not
been exaggerated. Every plate of
her showed signs of a fight.
Two-thirds of her false collision
nose had been shorn off and . what
was left of it was covered with blue-
scale, indicating it had been done
with a fierce hydroxygen ray.
Hardly a square yard of her skin but
was patched with hastily riveted
plates. One fin had been melted
clean away and the slag from it
hurled aft along her hull, where great
frozen gobs of it still clung. A queer
and cltimsy-lookiug jury-rig was
where her jet-deflectors should have
been, and a yawning hole in the bot-
tom was all that remained of the
nether turret.
But she came down neatly and
without assistance from the ground
force. MacKay continued to stare,
wondering what she was like inside,
for in common with his mates of the
Juno Patrol, he had never set foot
within a big ship. He had been told
that she was packed from stem to
stern with machinery and gadgets
but he could not imagine such a
quantity of machinery. His major
subject in school had been inter-
planetary languages; what he had
learned about physics and mechanics
he had picked up on his little SP 331.
MacKay saw the groundport open
and a man he knew must be Bullard
step out, accompanied by several
others. They had started across the
field toward the entrance to the dome
when suddenly they stopped in mid-
field and turned their faces upward.
A small ship was coming in from the
opposite direction, and judging from
the corona of bright flame all about
it, it was furiously decelerating. De-
spite his short service and general
ignorance on matters of the void,
MacKay had learned to read that
sign. It was one of the Conncirs
dispatch boats on special service.
Nothing else was driven at tha,t
furious, tube-burning pace.
The Bullard party waited where
they stood until it had landed, and
they continued to stand there while
a man sprinted across the field in
huge bounds to them. MacKay saw
Bullard take a white enveloije from
him, and turn it over and over in h^is
hands as the messenger poured out
some additional news with many
gesticulations. Bullard at first shook
his head, then nodded, and the man
walked back toward his ship.
SLACKER’S PARADISE
85
Whatever Captain Bullard had
meant to do first, the arrival of this
ship evidently changed his plans.
Instead of continuing on to the dome,
he abruptly altered his course and
came straight toward where the line
of SP boats lay. MacKay called a
warning to his men within, and sent
another flying down the line to rap
on hulls and wake up the shipkeepers
within.
Goose pimples arose on his skin
as he stood and waited. His ship
having come in fir.st, had been parked
farthest down the line, so that it was
not until Bullard had inspected all
the rest that he rounded the nose
of the grounded SP boat , and ad-
vanced straight upon MacKay. He
answered the junior’s salute briskly
and asked:
“Permission to inspect you, sir.f”
MacKay nodded dumbly, but he
need not have. Bullard had already
passed him and was inside. The
SP SSI’s young skipper let the officers
who were with Bullard go in first,
then he followed. Bullard was al-
ready half through. He came out of
the cubbyhole that passed for an
engine room and into the control
booth. He turned to one of his aids.
“Best of the lot, eh.'*”
The officer addressed nodded.
Bullard caressed the knobs and
buttons on the control panel with
skilled fingers, then he glanced up-
ward at the port bulkhead. A grim
smile showed for an instant on his
face, then he suppressed it. He
looked full at the purple-faced Mac-
Kay, who was gasping like a fish
out of water. There was a twinkle
of questioning amusement in the
eyes of the famous captain of the
Pollux.
“One of my men, sir,” blurted
MacKay, blushing to the roots of his
hair. “He got a transfer to the Fleet.
We felt we ought to put that up.”
“That” was a small silk flag — a
single red star on a pale-blue back-
ground. Its counterpart hung
proudly in millions of homes on
Earth, Venus and Mars. It was the
current service flag. It meant that
a member of the household had gone
to the war.
“So,” said Captain Bullard, “that’s
the way you feel about itf” The
smile was off his face now, and his
eyes were piercing and hard. They
never wavered below the level of
MacKay’s own eyes, but the junior
had the feeling that he was being
studied from tip to toe. He got no
clue from Bullard as to what the
answer should be.
“Y-y-yes, sir,” he gulped. “We
do.”
Captain Bullard continued to gaze
at him relentlessly. MacKay felt
that more was expected of him.
“Oh, sir,” he exploded, “I didn’t
ask for this— it was a doting aunt
— I’ve tried and tried, but they turn
my letters down — it . . . it — ”
“Enough!” said Bullard, hard as
nails. “It is not what you do, but
how you do it that counts. There
is an old Earth saying, ‘They also
serve who stand and wait.’ You
know no gunnery, I daresay, nor
one end of a torpedo from the other.
You may lack much special knowl-
edge that our profession requires.
That is all your new moon means
to me. But yon know something.
It is ho'W you use that in a real
emergency that matters — not what
you ought to know.”
Lieutenant (jg) Alan MacKay,
T.S.G.R.F., Class 5, nodded miser-
ably. It sounded reasonable — con-
soling even — but at the bottom of his
heart he knew he was doing empty
and useless and humiliatingly safe
duty when the course of all history
was at stake. Captain Bullard
86
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
whirled where he stood.
“I should like to speak to the lieu-
tenant privately,” he said, quietly.
When the others had withdrawn
he addressed MacKay again.
“You are about to have your
chance. You saw that messenger
boat come in? She is a virtual wreck.
She cannot be repaired for days.
But her captain has delivered me a
message that must go on. It is highly
secret and urgent and must not be
sent through the ether. It must fje
delivered to the commander in chief
by hand, or failing that, orally. He
is now hovering off the Jovian Sys-
tem maintaining our blockade there.
How soon can you start?”
“Within the hour, sir,” answered
the startled MacKay, Now that he
had received what he had been beg-
ging for, he was frightened. Was he
good enough? Could he do it? What
if he failed?
But Bullard showed no hesitation.
He produced an envelope that Mac-
Kay saw was sealed with heavy state
seals.
“This,” said Bullard, “is written
in plain English, not enciphered code,
and there is a reason for it. That
‘MR’ in red letters on the lower
front corner means at ‘messenger’s
risk.’ That is your authorization,
if threatened with capture or loss of
the document, to open it and read
it until you have memorized its con-
tents. Then you are to eat it, or
otherwise completely destroy it.
After that, you must use every effort
to deliver it to the commander in
chief, suffering torture, if required,
rather than divulge its purport. Are
you ready to undertake that?”
IVIacKay looked into the steely
eyes. He saw something he could
not evade. That question was not a
query— it was a command.
“I am,” he said simply, and held
out his hand for the message.
“You will give ine your receipt,
please,” said Caj)tain Bullard,
evenly.
Lieutenant AlacKay’s hand trem-
bled as he wrote out the receipt, but
as he handed it across he was re-
warded with a friendly smile from
the man he had so long admired —
and but a moment ago had feared.
“Remember” — Bullard glanced
down at the paper — “Mr. AlacKay,
if you are caught by the enemy, you
are on your own. All will depend
then on your own judgment and your
capacity for action. A" on have a
great responsibility. Do not be
afraid to exercise it. Bear in mind
that in a grave emergency, any ac-
tion is better than inaction.”
MacKay was vaguely aware of a
warm grasp of the hand, a slap on
the shoulder, and his boyhood hero
was gone. A second later he had
snapped out of it and was holding
the general alarm button hard down.
There was much to do to make ready
to hop off’ within the hour.
AIacKay looked back once, after
he had cleared Hebesport. The dome
with the dc2>ot and cabaret under it
looked like a dime on the sidewalk
seen from a five-story window, and
the black ships lying on the ozone
snow outside like flies — one big one
and the rest dots. He had told nei-
ther Hartley nor Terrell where they
were going or why. He had only
set the course and promised to ex-
jalain in due time. Hartly was the
assistant for astragation, and I’er-
rell’s job was handling the motors.
As a relief for Hartley, there was Red
Dugan, the scarlet-haired, freckle-
faced quartermaster. Terrell’s
heliaer was Billy Kelsey, the radio-
man, better known as Si)arks.
Sparks alone of them did not wear
the silver crescent. He was an old
SLACKER’S PARADISE
87
Fleet Reserve man, having done his
time long ago in the early Martian
Wars.
Until that moraent, Mackay had
never felt the weight of responsi-
bility. 'Fhe SP 33t was much like
his own yacht in its general charac-
teristics and he had never had any
misgivings about his ability to han-
dle her. Her armament was so in-
adequate as to never have given
him a qualm. It consisted simply of
a 10 mm. needle gun, fit only to de-
tonate a stray mine. The SP boats
were designed simply to patrol, not
fight. But now she might have to
fight or run, and since she could not
do the former, it left no choice but
the latter. And that, a swift com-
putation showed, was almost as im-
possible.
MacKay was still trying to figure
out how with his low rocket radius
he could make the best possible
speed to the Fleet and still keep back
enough fuel in reserve to enable him
to duck an emergency, when sud-
denly the emergency came. It was
Red, the quartermaster, who an-
nounced it. He had been exploring
space ahead with the not too sensi-
tive old Mark I thermoscope the
SP SSI was fitted with.
“There’s something ahead, some-
thing big,” he reported. Red pulled
the book to him that contained the
resultant patterns of various com-
binations of infrared rays originat-
ing from mixed substances. He
puzzled over the cross-index until he
came to the type figures that
matched those visible on the face of
the thermoscope. He read out of
the book:
LT — 848 — SOI, surcharged with F type
spots: am atomic-powered type BBB with
propulsion cut, but auxiliaries running.
IJsually indicates five units distance at nor-
mal intensity. Apply inverse square rule
lor other readings.
That could only mean a Jovian
battleship of the most powerful class,
lying to in. the vicinity! For the
Federation boasted nothing bigger
than the highly specialized star-class
cruisers, such as the Polhm.
Almost in the same moment, the
televox came to life with a sputter
and a crackling. A guttural voice
was speaking:
“Phraedon? Seznik ng mit flotz-
krigen zub snugelbisker! Phraedon?”
“What is that?” yelped Hartley.
MacKay listened as the message
was repeated. Fie knew the Jordan
dialects better in written form than
by ear.
“He wants to know if we are Ter-
restrials. Fie says if we are, to come
alongside and arrange surrender.”
As he spoke he twisted the jet-
deflector to hard dive and hard right.
Simultaneously he jammed down the
button that released maximum
rocket power.
“Handle her. Hartley, I’ve got a
job to do.”
The bealization that he had
failed at the one real mission he had
been assigned almost bowled Mac-
Kay over. His vocal cords felt
tense and paralyzed, and cold sweat
stood out on his forehead and more
trickled down his ribs, but he knew
the hour had come to destroy the
important message. Yet he hesi-
tated. Had he really been over-
hauled by a Jovian? For how could
a Jovian, no matter how big, elude
the clouds of cruisers that swarmed
about Jupiter and his planets?
He paused, irresolute, with his fin-
gers still on the flap of the sealed en-
velope. Sparks flung open the door
of the radio booth and stuck his head
out.
“Message coming through from
Pollux. I’ll give you the decode in a
jiffy,” He slammed the door.
88
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
“How are we doing?” MacKay
asked Hartley, nervously.
“Rotten,” said Hartley. “She’s
come into sight — big brute, with
black and white checks on her sides
— she’s piling- on the power now.”
Sparks stepped out of the booth.
The slip he handed MacKay read:
For your info: INTERCEPT Dir-Gen
to c-IN-c: Complete retirement a.s previ-
ously ordered. Await further orders at
Mars Base. Messenger ship note changed
destination.
MacKay waited no longer. His
trembling fingers tore open the pre-
cious envelope and he took out the
flimsy single sheet of paper it con-
tained. He knew now that the block-
ade had been abandoned for some
reason unknown to him and the
Jovian fleet was free to come out.
He spread the paper open and read.
He skipped the flowery heading.
It was from the Grand Federated
Council to the commander in chief.
The first paragraph was full of flat-
tering words about how well the
fleet had done. The second spoke of
the hardships endured by the three
planets during the long war, and
of the millions of men lost and the
trillions of sols spent. Taxation was
now unendurable. The third para-
graph read:
Until now -we had lioped that our block-
ade would win eventually, hut late infor-
mation advises us that the flerig crops on
all Jovian satellites are bumper ones this
year, and that herds of leezvartle, under
intensive breeding, are actually larger than
at the beginning of the war. Since the
enemy has unlimited resources of minerals,
it is clear that we can no longer hope to
win. Hence the order for your withdrawal.
Inform his Imperial Majesty that a peace
commission is being sent and request an im-
mediate armistice. Advise him our terms
in general will be the following:
Recognition of Jovian dominion over all
outer planets and .satellie,s; division of aster-
oids to be determined by conference, as well
as the amount of indemnity we shall pay —
MacKuy had turned pale. It was
monstrous, shameful! That tlie Fed-
eration should M'eaken now, after
having relieved half the suffering
planets controlled by the ruthless
and aggressive Callistans and won
all the major battles of the war, was
unthinkable cowardice. Why, they
were giving the Jovian Emperor-
self-styled, for in the beginning he
was only a Callistan soldier of for-
tune — more than even he had ever
hoped to gain. And the ultimate in
degradation was that unsolicited and
ignominious offer to pay indemni-
ties!
He ran through the incredible mes-
sage once more. Then the SP 331
lurched violently.
“They’ve hooked ns with a tractor
beam,” shouted Hartley. MacKay
tore a strip from the Council’s mes-
sage and rolled it into a pellet which
he popped into his mouth. He fol-
lowed it with another and another.
By the time the small patrol v'essel
was locked against the captor’s space-
port, he had swallowed the last of it.
Its many-sealed cover had been re-
duced to black ashes, which he
slowly crumbled between his fin-
gers.
The televox came to life with:
“Lu swpnitte af trelb vittervang
—LOSHT!”
“They’re damned polite,” mut-
tered Lieutenant MacKay, as he
buckled on the gold-hilted dagger
that was the ceremonial descendant
of the sword. “Will his excellency
have the kindness to come on board
— ^PLEASE!” he mimicked, bitterly.
To SAY that Lieutenant (jg) Alan
MacKay was surprised when he ■
stepped out of the Dravd’s inner
lock would be to commit a gross
understatement. He was, to be most
exact, simply flabbergasted.
Eight side-boys lined the passage.
SLACKER’S PARADISE
find a ranlc of four musicians, toot-
ing tlie raucous zihl pipes that give
Ionic music its particularly ghastly
effect, were rendering full imperial
— if distinctly cacaphonoiis — honors.
Two gigantic drummers battered out
the ruffles. Beyond them stood a
gold-laced admiral and”his staff, all
of them gaunt and emaciated -look-
ing, but rigged out in all their finery.
MacKay saluted clumsily. He was
astonished to see the admiral bow
deeply, and in the doing, unhook his
own poniard from its clasp. When
he straightened up from his obei-
sance, he took two steps forward and
handed the swordlet to MacKay.
“Bliss,” he said, “you take it, Ve
het ver’ grit tribble ta scap — bat
Trestians olright. Now ve gat life-
boats ant go avay. Maybeso lo gat
Draval other time, no?” He looked
appealingly at MacKay.
“1 think we will do better if we
converse in Ionic,” suggested Lieu-
tenant MacKay, glancing stupidly
at the token of surrender he held.
He did not quite know what to do
with it. Impulsively he handed it
back to the admiral. “Do I under-
stand that yau are surrendering to
me?” he asked, still unbelieving.
“Yaas.” said the admiral, and with
another sweeping bow, indicated he
might come farther into the ship to
hear the reasons.
They walked down a long glitter-
ing passage. On either side Mac-
Kay had glimpses through explo-
sion-proof glassite bulkheads of
masses of monster vacuum tubes;
banks of condensers and transform-
ers; immensely intricate bits of ma-
chinery composed of strangely
arranged helixes, glowing spheres,
and literally miles of glistening wires,
He had not the faintest notion of
what any of the machines were called
or what their function.
The admiral led the way into a
luxurious office and sat down wearily.
He seemed very weak. All his suite
had mysteriously disappeared.
“We destroyed our consort — a
ship that was manned wholly by Cal-
listans, and killed all the Callistan
officers we had on board. We man-
aged to elude your most effective
blockade, and got this far, but I am
afraid we cannot go farther. It is
for that reason I place the ship under
your protection.”
MacKay blinked. His protection!
He thought feebly of the SP SSI’s
10 mm. micro-Bertha. It was too
silly, too wacky. This was all a
dream. But the admiral talked on,
earnestly and pleadingly. MacKay
was brought back to a sense of
reality by a series of quivering jolts
that momentarily shook the ship.
“My staff and remaining crew tak-
ing off in the boats,” explained the
admiral.’ “They are holding one for
me. I must get back as soon as
possible.”
“B-biit— ”
“I am Jallikat — you may have
heard of me — I was one of the first
who advocated a union of the Jovian
satellities. I had no idea, of course,
how tyrannical the Callistons would
prove to be, or what a fantastic mad-
man they had for a leader. I need
not relate how Europa and Gany-
mede were induced to join ns, or
our. subsequent conquests elsewhere.
But all that is over. The empire is
an empty shell and overripe for de-
struction. The flerig crop is a com-
plete failure. Our once vast herds
of leezvartle have been slaughtered
to the last animal—”
, MacKay gave a start. It was an
example of, what skillful propaganda
could do to unman an enemy.
“The Callistans have more local
revolts on hand than they can man-
age. In another day they will col-
lapse, for the people are starving.
90
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
Your blockade, my young friend, has
beat them.
“You M'onder why I bring you
this battleship. I will tell you. We
ha\"e listened to your director and
we trust him. He has said that the
war aims are for the liberations of
the subject peoples. Very w'ell,
when that day comes, lo will need
a' fleet, and we wish these ships
which have always been manned by
lonians, to be spared as a nucleus
for our future nation. We do not so
trust your allies, the Martians.
They would either add them to their
own navy, or destroy them to keep
them out of other hands.”
The admiral smiled hopefully.
“Now that I have delivered it
safely into your hands, may I have
your permission to go back to my
people.^”
“Why, certainlj^,” said MacKay,
jjerfunctorily. He was too dtim-
founded to add anything to that.
Almost before he knew it, the ad-
miral had gone. A moment later
there was one last thudding jolt.
Lieutenant (jg) Alan MacKay felt
a peculiar tingling all over his body.
He— a wearer of the crescent^ — was
in complete command of the biggest
battleship of the skies. It was an
empty and crewless battleship, to
be sure, but only yesterday even
ships like the indomitable Pollux.
would not have dared approach it
except in divisions of six. It made
him feel a little faint.
MacKay pulled himself together
and walked out into the passage.
He was not certain by what way he
had come, for there had been sev-
eral turnings. The ship was vast
and strange, and eerie in its silence.
But after several false tries, which
humbled him further, he found the
air lock. He straightened up and
drew a deep breath. Five seconds
later, he stepped down into tlie eight-
by-eight control room of the micro-
scopic SP 331.
“No kidding, fellows,” he an-
nounced in a pathetic effort at be-
ing nonchalant, “but we have cap-
tured a battleship. Leave this little
thing as she is and let’s go aboard
and look her over.”
Four pairs of eyes stared at him,
and four sets of lips twitched into
incredulous grins. After a moment
Terrel spoke up.
“O. K., I’ll bite. What’s the gag.?”
“I mean it,” said MacKay, seri-
ously. “The gag is that there is
not a soul on board her nor a bite
of an 3 Ahing to eat. Ho\y she’s fixed
for fuel or anything else is some-
thing we don't know. Our first job
is to find out.”
They explored that ship like min-
ers exploring a new-found cave.
Time after time they became lost,
or wound up in blind passages. It
took the best part of an hour before
they came to the control room, em-
bedded behind thick armor in the
very bowels of the ship. AlacKay
found a set of plans and dragged
them out. Hastily he translated
some of the moie important symbols
on them for the guidance of his help-
ers.
“Here,” he said to Terrell, “this
is the motive-power layout as well
as of the auxiliaries. Take Red with
3 mu and see if jmu can dope out
what makes tliis ship move and how
to keep the lights and things on.
You’ll have to stand watch and
watch when you do. Report back in
an hour or so, in any case. Have
Sparks locate the radio and let me
know the minute he can start send-
ing. You, Hartlej^ take this .set
and have a look-see at the magazines.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the powder
SLACKEE’S PARADISE
(»1
hasn’t gone sonr. If it has, flood or
smother. Look for labels on the
wall alongside locked valves. ‘Belli-
gish’ something or other is what
you’ll And — it means ‘to extinguish.’
I don’t see how jmu can go wrong
if you turn one on.
After they had gone, MacKay
made a cursory examination of the
control room. Its thousands of
gadgets must have taken a score of
men to operate, and very little of it
meant anything to him, accom-
plished yachtsman though he was.
He gave up the job and busied him-
self with examining the more impor-
tant of the ship’s papers.
What they contained w'as ample
confirmation of what the admiral
had said. Request after request for
vital supplies had been turned dowm,
or ersatz material sent in its place.
Much of the correspondence dealt
with the failure of the supposedly
“just as good or better” substitutes.
He felt better over his instructions
to Hartley when he learned that half
the ship’s magazines had already
beeu smothered on account of de-
teriorating powder.
But the question that pressed re-
lentlessly on his brain was the big
one. What should he do about that
message.^* Abandon this hulk and
go on in the SP SSI? Or had the
news he had just come by altered
the situation so materially that it
did not matter whether the message
was delivered? He decided to radio
Terra, giving the news he had just
acquired, and ask for further in-
structions, even though according to
the code, no messenger was permit-
ted to query his orders.
That idea was knocked in the head
as soon as it was conceived. Sparks
came in.
“I found it,” he said, “and it works.
I ti-aced back* and followed a lead
into here. You can start sending
any time now. Use that set over
there.” He pointed to a panel half-
concealed by a huge switchboard.
“Here’s something interesting I
found — a complete set of all our
codes and ciphers! Wouldn’t that
burn ’em up at GHQ? Here are a
few — you’ll notice they are printed
in Jovian thin-line type — guess they
issued them to all their ships.”
MacKay frowned. If the Cal-
listans had all their codes, he could
not hope to communicate confiden-
tially with the director, the Pollux.,
or anyone else. Should he indicate
that revolution was on the verge of
breaking out in Jovia, the emperor
might stamp it out before the Earth-
men and allies could help. Yet the
information he had in his possession
w^as incredibly valuable. Had the
Council had it a few* days earlier,
they would never have sent their
pusillanimous peace offer. If they
had it now, they would surely recall
it.
“Hold everything,” said MacKay,
and sat down to think. His brain
felt numb and his skin was tingling
again. He was almost afraid to face
the fact that was every moment
forcing itself more and more into
the foreground. It was that at that
moment he^ — he, the lowly junior
grade lieutenant of Class .5 of the
Reserve— held the fate of the Solar
System’s peoples in his hand. Upon
what he did next — or failed to do —
everything hung. No matter how
slight his action, the repercussions
would be interplanetary. It w'as a
crushing thought to one who had
never had to make a major decision
and stand by its consequences.
It was only a matter of a minute
or so that he sat there in sober study,
though to him it seemed much longer.
He groaned. “Oh, if I only knew,
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
What would a man like Bullard do?
He would do something, T bet.”
The thought of Bullard was tonic.
The picture of the man came up be-
fore him, vivid and clear. He could
almost hear him talking, and the
e.Kact words of that memorable inter-
^'iew came back to him. They were
strangely prophetic.
“It is how you use what you know
that counts in an emergency — ^you
may be on your own — all wdll de-
pend on your own judgment and ca-
pacity for action — do not be afraid
to exercise it — any action is better
than none.”
That was the gist of it. That was
the Bullardian philosophy in a nut-
shell. Act! Damn the torpedoes; go
ahead! Cut the Gordian Knot, if
there was no other wmy.
Lieutenant MacKay made up
his mind. They might hang him for
high treason, but what he was about
to do was, to the best of his sincere
judgment, the only thing to be done
under the circumstances. It was
what the peoples of all the worlds of
the System hungered for. When he
spoke again it wms with a firm steady
voice and flashing eyes.
“Sparks! Start sending — ^i-eserved
State wave length — priority symbol
— urgent. ‘From the Council of the
Federated Planets to the Emperor
of Jovia. Su‘. Within the next
twelve hours you will by decree grant
wdiole and unconditional freedom to
all your subjects beyond the con-
fines of the planetoid Callisto. You
will at once recall and immobilize all
strictly Calli.stan war craft. To per-
mit the orderly doing of this we have
temporarily withdrawn our forces.
Should you fail to comply within the
time set, we shall resume the as-
sault.’ Let’s see, I think that covers
it. Sign off with the usual high seal
svmbol. You know the one. Got
it?”
“Yep,” said Sparks, his hand
steadily pounding away. “AH gone.
Now wliat?” The grizzled old radio
man had something like admiration
in his eyes, though he could only
guess the story behind what was
transpiring.
“Give me the key. I’m a bum
operator, but nobody can do these
sneezes but me. I doubt if you could
even read them.”
MacKay sat down. All his self-
consciousness had evaporated. He
w'as plunging along now, and letting
the chips fall where they might. He
might make ridiculous errors in plain
code, or Ionic or Ganymedian gram-
mar, but he didn’t care. If the idea
got across, that was enough. It did
not matter now about bis ignorance
of gunnery, or engineering, or any-
thing else nautical. He was using
the thing he did know — planetary
languages.
For an hour he sat, jabbering forth
dramatic appeals to the lonians, the
Europans and the others to arise
and drive out their conquerors. He
told how the crew' of the Draval had
done it, and said she was waiting
for them to join her. He promised
the support of Terra, and the quick
return of the Federated Fleet to aid
them if they only showed resolution.
He went on and on, his hand never
ceasing. It was Sparks- who broke
him off.
“A call on another w'ave, sir. It’s
from Admiral Alley Cat, or some-
thing that sounds like that . He says
knock it off — it’s all over. They’ve
dug a bird somewhere that knows
English. Anyhow, he’s on the way
here.”
MacKay slumped back in his seat.
He had not known how tired one
could get merely flicking the hand.
SLACKER’S PARADISE
But there was another clicking start-
ing up. It was on the high State
wave he had just been using. He
listened.
“Urgent for Pollux. If you possibly can,
turn back and find the SP .S.91 you used
for messenger. Her o{)eriitor is stricken with
cosmopsycliosi.s and is sending wild and ex-
tremely damaging messages. Suppress him
even if it involves destruction of the patrol
boat.
“Signed, Director.”
“Oh, gosh,” said MacKay, “now
Fve got to .start explaining. You do
it— ril dictate.”
When the full story was on the
ether, MacKay was in a state of
virtual collapse. He looked with a
dull eye upon Terrell who came in
to report that the power installation
was miles beyond his comprehen-
sion, though he did think they would
have lights for a while.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Mac-
Kay, wearily,, and closed his eyes.
The issue would be determined then.
It was the next day that Admiral
Jallikat brought his squadron up.
There was the Tsehasnick, the Perl,
and the Bolonok, all battleships, four
cruisers and a number of lesser craft.
The admiral promptly sent over
enough men to man the Draval and
get her under way. She picked up
speed sluggishly and headed Earth-
ward to the point where the Pollux
was limping back, trying to inter-
cept them.
“Fll go ahead in the SP 331,” said
MacKay, the moment the messenger
reported the Pollux had been picked
up by the sensitive thermoscopes of
the lu’g ship. “It is I, and I alone,
who have to face the music.”
Lieutenant (jg) Alan MacKay
left his tiny SP boat tied up to the
Pollux’s entry port and silently fol-
lowed the commander who had ad-
mitted him toward Captain Bidiard’s
cabin. He entered and stood just in-
side the door, waiting anxiously for
what the captain had to say. He
was not happy.
Bullard rose from his desk' and
walked forward without a word until
he came face to face with the young
officer, anel not a foot away. He
reached out his right hand and with
two fingers seized the silver pin on
MacKay ’s chest. With a single reso-
lute yank, he ripped it away and a
bit of the cloth came with it. With-
out looking at it he flung it back-
ward across the room.
“I’m sorry about the tear,” said
Bullard quietly, “I did not mean
to be quite so vigorous. But here,
this will cover it — ”
From his own breast he unpinned
the broad, star-spangled gold-
threaded ribbon of the Celestial
Cross.
“After all,” he said, and this time
he smiled, “ymi won a war, whereas
all I won was battles.”
Note :
The seemingly incredible situation in the inid-
clle portion oi‘ this story occiirretl in almost iden-
tical fashion during the 1st World War, in 1018.
A pair of Austro-Hungarian battleships — the
Zrinyi and the Radetsky — surrendered to an
American sub-chaser. Their condition was the
sahie, and their purpose was the same. The
crews were Dalmatians and foresaw the dis-
memberment of Austria and hoped for the es-
tablishment of a Dalmatian Republic. They re-
fused obstinately to surrender to either Italian
or French ships, though they were both in
the Adriatic. They insisted on liiiding an
American captor, as they were hopeful that we
would return the ships to them as a nucleus for
their own fleet. The biggest they could find
was a sub-chaser.
The young lieutenant who took over the
Zrinyi was just out of college and had never
been on board a battleship. There was no food
but. the ersatz stuff left by the Austrians. It
took tliem days to make out wdiat was what, as
the tfew promptly deserted as soon as the ship
was safely under the American flag. But the
American kids hung on, and managed to keep
steam, up. and run the ship until the Peace
Treaty hnally disposed of it.
The Italians eventually got them, and used
them for targets. They were like our Con-
necticuts. M. .T.
THE END.
94
HOI IHE fIRSI
By B. (. van Voyt
The tale of a ship senf out to explore the
depths of space, the first beyond man's Solar
System — and, it might be, the ultimate last!
Illustrated by Jack Binder
CAin'AiN Harcourt wakened with
a start. In the darkness he lay
tense, shaking the sleep out of his
mind. Something was wrong. He
couldn’t quite place the discordant
factor, but it trembled there on the
verge of his brain, an alien thing
that shattered for him the security
of the spaceship.
He strained his senses against the
blackness of the room — and ab-
ruptly grew aware of the intensity
of that dark. The night of the room
was shadowless, a pitchlike black
that lay like an opaque blanket hard
on his eyeballs.
That was it. The darkness. The
indirect night light must have gone
off. And out here in interstellar
space there wonld be no diffused
light as there was on Earth and even
within the limits of the Solar Sys-
tem.
Still, it was odd that the lighting
system should have gone on the
blink on this first “night” of this
first trip of the first spaceship pow-
ered by the new, stupendous atomic
drive.
A sudden thought made him
reach toward the light switch.
The click made a futile sound in
the pressing weight of the darkness
—and seemed like a signal for the
footsteps that whispered hesitantly
along the corridor, and ]5aused out-
side his door. There was a knock,
then a muffled, familiar, yet strained
voice:
“Harcourt!”
The urgency in the man’s tone
seemed to hold connection to all the
odd menace of the past few minutes.
Harcourt, conscious of relief,
barked:
“Come in, Gunther. The door’s
unlocked!”
In the darkness, he .slipped from
under the sheets and fumbled for
his clothes — as the door opened, and
the breathing of the navigation of-
ficer of the ship became a thick, sat-
isfying sound that destroyed the last
vestige of the hard silence.
“Harcourt, the damnedest thing
has happened. It started when ev-
erything electrical went out of order.
Comptoir says we’ve been accelerat-
ing for two hours now at Heaven
only knows what rate.”
There was no pressure on him
now. The familiar presence and
voice of Gunther had a calming ef-
fect; the sense of queer, mysterious
things was utterly gone. Here was
something into which he could fig-
uratively sink his teeth.
Harcourt stepped matter-of-factly
into his trousers and said after a mo-
ment: . “I hadn’t noticed the accel-
eration. So used to the — Hm-m-m,
doesn’t seem more tlian two gravi-
ties. Nothing serious could result
u
“There’s less than twenty minutes now to get that
functioning — and the star to end us if you don’t.”
in two hours. As for light, they’ve
got those gas lamps in the emer-
gency room.
For the moment it was all quite
convincing. He hadn’t gone to bed
till the ship’s speed was well past the
velocity of light. Ever3^body had
been curious about what would hap-
pen at that tremendous milepost —
whether the Lorenz-Fitzgerald con-
06
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION '
traction theory was substance or ap-
pearance.
Nothing had happened. The test
.ship simply forged ahead, accelerat-
ing each second, and, just before he
retired, they had estimated the
speed at nearly two hundred thou-
sand miles per second.
The complacent mood ended. He
said sharply: “Did you say Comp-
ton sent you?”
Compton was chief engineer, and
he was definitely not one to give
away to panics of any description.
Harcourt frowned: “What does
Compton think?”
“Neither he nor I can understand
it; and when we lost sight of the Sun
he thought you’d better be — ”
“When you ivhatf”
Gunther’s laugh broke humor-
lessly through the darkness: “Har-
court, the damned thing is so unbe-
lievable that when Compton called
me on the communicator just now
he spent half the time talking to
himself like an old woman of the
gutter. Only he, O’Day and I know
the worst yet.
“Harcourt, we’ve figured out that
we’re approximately five hundred
thousand light years from Earth —
and that the chance of our ever find-
ing our Sun in that swirl of suns
makes searching for needles in hay-
stacks a form of child’s play.
“We’re lost as no human being
has ever been.”
In the utter darkness beside the
bank of telescope eyepieces, Har-
court waited and wfitched. Though
he could not see them, he was tautly
aware of the grim men who sat so
quietly, peering into the night of
space ahead — at the remote point
of light out there that never varied
a hairbreadth in its position on the
crossed wires of the eyepieces. The
silence v/as complete, and yet —
The very presence of these able
men w’as a living, vibrating force to
him who had knowm them inti-
mately for so many years. I'he beat
of their thought, the shifting of
space-toughened muscles, was a
sound that distorted rather than
disturbed the, hard tensity of the si-
lence.
The silence shattered as Gunther
spoke matter-of-factly:
“There’s no doubt about it, of
course. We’re going to pass through
the star system ahead. An ordinary
Sun, I should say, a little colder
than our own, but possibly half
again as large, and about thirty
thousand parsecs distant.”
“Go away with you,” came the
gruff voice of physicist O’Day.
“You can’t tell how far away it is.
Where’s your triangle?”
“I don’t need any such tricks,”
retorted Gunther heatedly. “I ju.st
use my God-given intelligence. You
watch. We’ll be able to verify our
speed w^hen we pass through the sys-
tem; and velocity multiplied by time
elapsed will — ”
Harcourt interjected gently: “So
far as we know , Gunther, Compton
hasn’t any lights yet. If he hasn’t,
we won’t be able to look at our
watches, so we won’t know the time
elapsed; so you can’t prove any-
thing. What is your method, if it
isn’t triangulation— and it can’t be.
We’re open to conviction.”
Gunther said: “It’s plain com-
mon. sense. Notice the cross line.s on
your eyepieces. The lines intersect
on the point of light — and there’s
not a fraction of variation or blur.
“These lenses have tested perfect
according to the latest standards,
but observatory astronomers l.>ack
home have found that beyond one
hundred fifty thoirsand .light years
there is the beginning of distortion.
Therefore I could have said .a min-
NOT THE FIRST
97
ute or so ago that we were within
one hundred and fifty thousand light
years of that sun.
“But there’s more. When I first
looked into the eyepiece — before I
called you, captain — the distortion
wm tliere. Fin pretty good at esti-
mating time, and I should say it re-
quired about twelve minutes for me
to get you and fumble my way back
in here. When I looked then the dis-
tortion was gone. There’s an auto-
matic device in my eyepiece for
measuring degree of distortion.
When T first looked, the distortion
was .005, roughly equivalent to
twenty-five thousand light years.
There’s another point — ”
“You needn’t go on,” Harcourt in-
terjected quietly. “You’ve proved
your case.”
O’Day groaned: “That’ll be
maybe twenty-four thousand light
years in twelve minutes. Two thou-
sand a minute; that’ll be thirty light
years a second. And we’ve been sit-
tin’ here maybe more’n twenty-five
minutes since you ’n’ Harcourt came
back. That’ll be another fifty thou-
sand light years, leavin’ one hundred
thousand light years, or thirty thou-
sand parsecs between us ’n’ the star.
You’re a good man, Gunther. But
how will we ever identify the blamed
thing when we come back.l' It
would be makin’ such a fine gun-
sight for the return trip if we could
maybe get another sight farther on,
when we finally stop this runaway
®r — ”
Harcourt cut him off grimly:
“There’s just one point that you
two gentlemen have neglected to
take into account. It’s true we must
try to stop the ship — Compton’s
men are working at the engines now.
But everything else is only prelimi-
nary to our main task of thinking
our way back to Earth. We shall
probably find it necessary, if we live.
to change our entire conception of
space.
“I said — ij toe live! What you
scientists in your zeal failed to no-
tice was that the most delicate in-
struments ever invented by man,
the cross lines of this telescope in-
tersect directly on the approaching
Sun. They haven’t changed for
more than thirty minutes, so we^
must assume the Sun is following a
course in space directly toward us,
or away from us.
“As it is, we’re going to run
squarely into a ball of fire a million
miles plus in diameter. I leave the
rest to your imaginations.”
The niscTjssioN that blurred on
then had an unreal quality for Har-
court. The only reality was the
blackness, and the great ship plung-
ing madly down a vast pit toward
its dreadful doom.
It seemed down, a diving into in-
credible depths at an insane velocity
— and against that cosmic discord-
ance, the voices of the men sounded
queer and meaningless, intellectu-^
ally, violently alive, but the effect
was as of small birds fluttering furi-
ously against the wire mesh of a trap
that has sprung remorselessly around
them.
“Time,” Gunther was saying, “is
the only basic force. Time creates
space instant by instant, and — ”
“Will you be shuttin’ up,” O’Day
interrupted scathingly. “You’ve
had the solving of the problem of
our speed, a practical job for an as-
tronomer and navigation officer.
But this’ll be different. Me bein’
the chief of the physicists aboard,
I—”
“Omit the preamble!” Harcourt
cut in dryly. “Our time is, to put
it mildly, drastically limited.”
“Right!” O’Day’s voice came
briskly out of the blackness. “Mind
m
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
ya, I’m not up to offerin’ any final
solutions, but here may be some an-
swers;
"‘The speed of light is not, ac-
cordin’ to my present thought, one
hundred eighty six thousand three
hundred miles per second. It’s
more’n two hundred thousand,
maybe fifty thousand more. In pre-
vious measurements, we’ve been for-
gettin’ the effect of the area of ten-
sions that makes a big curve round
any star system. We’ve known
about those tensions, but never gave
much thought to how much they
might slow up light, the way water
and glass does.
“That’s the only thing that’ll ex-
plain why nothin’ happened at the
apparent speed of light, but plenty
happened when we passed the real
.speed of light. Come to think on it,
the real speed must be somethin’
less than two hundred fifty thou-
sand, because we were goin’ slower'n
than when the electric system
blanked on us.”
“But man alive!” Gunther burst
out before Harcourt could speak.
“What at that point could have
jumped our speed up to a billion
times that of light?”
“When we have the solvin’ of
that,” O’Daji" interjected grimly,
“The entire universe’ll belong to us.”
“You’re wrong there,” Harcourt
stated quietly. “If we solve that,
we shall have the speed to go places,
but there’s no conceivable science
that will make it possible for us to
plot a course to or from any destina-
tion bejmnd a few hundred light
years.
“Do not forget that our purpose,
when we began this voyage, was to
go to Alpha Centauri. From there
we intended gradually to work out
from star to star, setting up bases
where possible, and slowly working
?»ut the complex problems involved.
“Theoretically, such a method of
plotting space couhl have gone on
indefinitely, though it was generally
agreed that the complexity would
increase out of all proportion to the
extra distance involved.
“But enough of that.” His voice
grew harder. “Has it occurred to
either of you that even if by .sotne
miracle of wit we miss that Sun,
there is a jmssibility that this shij)
may plunge on forever through
space at billions of times the velocity
of light.
“I mean simply this: Our speed
jumped inconceivably when we
crossed the point of light s]>eed. But
that i^oint is now behind us. And
there is no similar point ahead that
we can cross. When we get our en-
gines reversed, we face the prospect
of decelerating at two gravities or
a bit more for several thousand
years.
“All this is aside from the fact
that, at our present distance from
Earth, there is nothing known that
will help us find our way back.
“I’ll leave these thoughts with
you. I’m going to grope my way
down to Compton — our last hope!”
There was blazing light in the
engine room— a string of gasoline
lamps shed the blue-white intensity
of their glare onto several score men .
Half of the men were taking turns,
a dozen at a time, 'in the simple
task of straining at a giant wheel
whose shaft disappeared at one end
into the bank of monstrous drive
tubes. At the other end the wheel
was attached to a useless electric
motor.
The wheel moved so sluggishly
before the combined strength of the
workers that Harcourt thought, ap-
palled: “Good heavens, at, that rate,
it’ll take a day — and we’ve got forty
minutes at utmost.”
NOT THE FIRST
es
lie saw that, the other men were
putting together a steam engine
from parts I’ipped out of great pack-
ing cases. He felt better. The en-
gine would take the place of the elec-
tric motor and —
“it’ll take half an hour!” roared
a bull-like voice to one side of him.
As he turned, Compton bellowed:
“And don’t waste time telling me
any stories about running into stars.
I’ve been listening in to you fellows
on this wall communicator.”
liarcourt was conscious of a start
of surprise as he saw that the chief
engineer was lying on the steel floor,
his head propped on a curving metal
projection. His heavy face looked
strangely white, and when he spoke
it was from clenched teeth:
“Couldn’t spare anyone to send
you up some light. We’ve got a sin-
gle, straightforward job down here:
to stop those drivers.” He finished
ironically: “When we’ve done that
we’ll have about fifteen minutes to
figure out what good it will do us.”
The mighty man winced as he fin-
ished speaking. For the first time
Harcourt saw the bandage on his
right hand. He said sharply:
“You’i'e hurt!”
“Remind me,” replied Compton
grimly, “when we get back to Earth
to sock the departmental genius who
put an electric lock on the door of
the emergency room. I don’t know
how long it took to chisel into it,
but my finger got lost somewhere
in the shuffle.
“It’s all right,” he added swiftly.
“I’ve just now taken a ‘local.’ It’ll
.start working in half a minute and
we can talk.”
Hahcourt nodded stiffly. He
knew the fantastic courage and en-
durance that trained men could
show. He .said casually:
“How would you like some tech-
AST— 7
nicians, mathematicians and other
such to come down here and relieve
your men.^ There’s a whole corridor
full of them out there.”
“Nope!” Compton shook his
leonine head. Color Avas coming
into his cheeks, and his voice had a
clearer, less strained note as he con-
tinued: “These war horses of mine
are experts. Just imagine a biolo-
gist taking a three-minute shift at
putting that steam engine together.
Or heaving at that big wheel with-
out ever having been trained to syn-
chronize his muscles to the art of
pushing in unity with other men.
“But forget about that. We’ve
got a practical problem ahead of us;
and before we die I’d like to know
what we should have done and could
have done. Suppose we get the
steam engine running in time — -
which is not certain; that’s why I
put those men on the wheel even be-
fore we had light. Anyway, suppose
we do, where would we be.?”
“Acceleration would stop!” said
Harcourt. “But our speed would be
constant at something over thirty
light years per second.”
“That’s too hard to strike a sun!”
Coinpton spoke seriously, eyes half
closed. He looked up: “Or is it.?”
“What do you mean.?”
“Simply this: this sun is aboxit
twelve hundred thousand miles in
diameter. If it were at all gaseous
in structure, we could be through so
fast its heat would never touch us.”
- “Gunther says the star is some-
what colder than our own. That
suggests greater density.”
“In that, case” — Compton was al-
most cheerful — “at our speed, and
with the hard steel of our ship, we
could conceivably pass through a
steel plate a couple of million miles
in thickness. It’s a problem in fire
power for a couple of ex-military
men.”
100
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
“I’ll leave the problem for your
old age,” Harcourt said. “Your at-
titude suggests that you see no solu-
tions to the situation presented by
the star.”
Compton stared at him for a mo-
ment, unsmiling; then: “O. K., chief.
I’ll cut out the kidding. You’re
right about the star. It took us
fifty hours to get up to two hundred
forty thousand miles per second.
Then we crossed some invisible line,
and for the past few hours we’ve
been plumping along at, as you say,
thirty miles a second.
“All right, then, say fifty-three
hours that it took us to get here.
Even if we eliminate that horrible
idea you spawned, about it taking
us thousands of years to decelerate,
there still remains the certainty th-at
—-with the best of luck, that is —
with simply a reversal of the condi-
tions that brought us here, it would
require not less than fifty-three
hours to stop.
“Figure it out for yourself. We
might as well play marbles.”
They called Gunther ^nd
O’Day. “xAnd bring some liquor
down!” Compton roared through the
communicator.
“Wait!” Harcourt prevented him
from breaking the connection. He
spoke quietly: “Is that you, Gun-
ther.?”
“Yep!” the navigation officer re-
sponded.
“The star’s still dead on.?”
“Deader!” said the ungrammati-
cal Gunther.
Harcourt hesitated; this was the
biggest decision he had ever faced in
his ten violent years as a commander
of a spaceship. His face was stiff
as he said finally, huskily:
“All right, then, come down here,
but don’t tell anyone else what’s up.
They could take it — but what’s the
use.? Come to Compton’s office.”
He saw that the chief engineer
was staring at him strangely. Comp-
ton said at last: “So we really give
up the ship.?”
Harcourt gazed back at him
coldly: “Remember, I’m only the
co-ordinator around here. I’m sup-
posed to know something of every-
thing — but when experts tell me
there’s no hope, barring miracles,
naturally I refuse to run around like
an animal with a blind will to live.
“Your men are slaving to get the
steam engine running; two pounds
of U-235 are doing their bit to heat
up the steam boiler. When it’s all
ready, we’ll do what we can. Is that
clear.?”
Compton grinned, but there was
silence between them until' the two
other men arrived. O’Day greeted
them gloomily:
“There’s a couple of good friends
of mine up there whom I’d like to
have here now. But what the hell!
Let ’em die in peace, says Harcourt;
and right he is.”
Gunther poured the dark, glow-
ing liquid, and Harcourt watched
the glasses tilt, finally raised his
own. He wondered if the others
found the stuff as smooth and taste-
less as he did. He lowered his glass
and said softly:
“Atomic power! So this is the end
of man’s first interstellar flight.
There’ll be others, of course, and the
law of averages will protect them
from running into suns; and they’ll
get their steam engines going, and
their drives reversed; and if this
process does reverse itself, then
within a given time they’ll stop —
and then they’ll be where we
thought we were: facing the ]>rob-
lem of finding their way back to
Earth. It looks to me as if man is
stymied by the sheer vastness of the
universe.”
NOT THE FIRST
“Don't be such a damned pessi-
mist!” said Compton, his face
flushed from his second glass. “I’ll
wager they’ll have the drivers of the
third test ship reversed within ten
minutes of crossing that light-speed
deadline. That means they’ll only
be a few thousand light years from
Earth. Taking it in little jumps like
that, they’ll never get lost.”
. Hahcourt saw O’Day look up
from bis glass; the physicist’s lips
parted — and Harcourt allowed his
own words to remain unspoken.
O’Day said soberly:
“I’m thinkin’ we’ve been puttin’
too much blame on speed and speed
alone in this thing. Sure ’n’ there’s
no magic about the speed of light.
I didn’t ever see that before, but it’s
there plain now. The speed of light
depends on the properties of light,
and that goes for electricity and ra-
dio and all those related waves.
“Let’s be keepin’ that in mind.
Light and such react on space, and
are held down by nothin’ but their
own limitations. And there’s only
one new thing we’ve got that
could’ve put us out here, beyond the
speed of light; and that’s — ”
“ Atomic energy!” It was Comp-
ton, his normally strong voice amaz-
ingly low and tense. “O’Day, you’re
a genius. Light lacks the energy at-
tributes necessary to break the
bonds that hold it leashed. But
atomic energy' — the reaction of
atomic energy on the fabric of space
itself—”
Gunther broke in eagerly: “There
must be rigid laws. For decades
men, dreamed of atomic energy, and
finally it came, differently than they
expected. For centuries after the
first spaceship roared crudely to the
Moon, there has been the dream of
the inertialess drive; and here, some-
what di.fferently than we pictured it.
lOJ
is that dream come alive.” ■
There was brief silence. Then,
once again before Harcourt could
speak, there was an intemiption.
The door burst open — a man poked
his head around the corner:
“Steam engine’s ready! Shall we
start her up.?”
There was a gasp from every man
in that room — except Harcourt, He
leaped erect before the heavier
Compton could more than shuffle bis
feet; he snapped:
“Sit down, Com,pton!”
His gray gaze flicked with flame-
like intensity from face 'to face. His
lean body was taut as stone as be
said:
“No, the steam engine does not go
on!”
He glanced steadily but swiftly at
his wrist watch. He -said:
“According to Gunther’s calcula-
tions, we’re still twenty minutes
from the star. During seventeen of
those minutes we’re going to sit here
and prepare a logical plan for using
the forces we have available,”
Turning to the mech,anic, he fin-
ished quietly: “Tell the boys to re-
lax, Blake.”
The men were staring at him;
and it was odd to notice that each
of the three had becom.e abnorm.al.]y
stiff in posture, their eyes narrowed
to pin points, hands clenched, cheeks
pale. It was not as if they had not
been tense a minute before. But
now —
By comparison, their condition
then seemed as if it could have been
nothing less than easygoing resigna-
tion.
For a long moment the silence in
the cosy little room, with its library,
its chairs and shining O'ak desk and
metal cabinets, was complete. Fi-
nally Compton laughed, a curt,
tense, humorless laugh that showed
103
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
the enormousness of the strain he
was under. Even Harcourt Jumped
at that hard, ugly, explosive Jolt of
laughter.
“You false alarm!” said Compton.
“So you gave up the .ship, eh?”
“My problem,” Harcourt said
coolly, “was this: We needed origi-
nal thinking. And new ideas are
never born under ultimate strain.
In the last twenty minutes, when
we .seemed to have given up, your
minds actually relaxed to a very
great extent.
‘^And the idea came! It may be
worthless, but it’s what we’ve got
to work on. There’s no time to look
further.
“And now, with O’Day’s idea,
we’re back to the strain of hope. I
need hardly tell you that, once an
idea exists, trained men can develop
it immeasurably faster under pres-
sure.”
Once more his gaze flicked from
face to face. Color was coming back
to their faces; they were recovering
from the first tremendous shock. He
finished swiftly:
“One more thing: Y^ou may have
wondered why I didn’t invite the
others into this. Reason: twenty
men only confuse an issue in twenty
minutes. It’s we four here, or death
for all. Gunther, regardless of the
time it will take, we must have re-
capitulation, a clarification — quick!”
Gunther began roughly: “All
right. We crossed the point of light
speed. Several things happened:
our velocity Jumped to a billion or
so times that of light. Our electric
system went on the blink — there’s
something to explain.”
“Go on!” m-g’ed Harcourt.
'‘Twelve minutes left!”
“Our new speed is due to the reac-
tion of atomic energy on the fabric
of space. This reaction did not be-
gin till we had crossed the point of
light speed, indicating some connec-
tion, possibly a natural, restraining
influence of the world of matter and
energy as we knew it, on this vaster,
potentially cataclysmic force.”
“Elei>en minutes!” said Harcourt
coldly.
Greater streams of sweat were
pouring down Gunther’s dark face.
He finished Jerkily: “Apparently
our acceleration continued at two
gravities. Our problems are: to
stop the ship immediately and to
find our way back to Earth.”
He slumped back in his chair like
a man who has suddenly become
deathly sick. Harcourt snapped;
“Compton, what happened to the
electricity?”
“The batteries drained of power
in about three minutes!” the big
man rumbled hoarsely. “That hap-
pens to be approximately the thec»-
retical minimum time, gi'\^en an ulti-
mate demand, and opposed only by
the cable resistance. Somewhere it
must have Jumped to an easy con-
ductor — but where did it go? Don’t
a.sk me!”
“I’m thinkin’,” said O’Day, his
voice strangely flat, “I’m thinkin’ it
went home.
“Wait!” The flat, steelj^ twang of
the word silenced both Harcourt and
the astounded Compton. “Time for
talkin’ is over. Harcourt, you’ll be
enforcin’ my orders.”
“Give them!” barked the captaiii.
His body felt like a cake of ice, his
brain like a red-hot poker.
O’Day turned to Compton;
“Now get this, you blasted engineer:
Turn off them drivers ninety-five '
percent! One inch farther an’ I’ll
blow your brains out!”
“How the devil am I going to
know what the percent is?” Comp-
ton said freezingly. “Those are en-
gines, not delicately adjusted labora-
tory instruments. Why not shut
them off all the way?'’
VYou damned idiot!” O’Day
shouted furiously. “That’ll cut us
off out here an’ we’ll be lost forever.
Get movin’!”
Beetlike flame thickened along
Compton’s bull neck. The two men
glared at each other like two ani-
mals out of a cage, where they have
been tortured, ready to destroy each
other in distorted revenge.
“Compton!” said Harcourt, and
he was amazed at the way his voice
quavered. “Seven minutes!”
Without a word, the chief engi-
neer flung about, jerked open tbe
tloor and plunged out of sight. He
was bellowing some gibberish at his
men, but Harcourt couldn’t make
out a single sentence.
“There’ll be appoint,” O’Day was
mumbling beside him, “there’ll be a
point where the reaction’ll be mini-
mum — but still there — and we’ll
have everything — but let’s get out
into the engine room before that
scoundrel Compton — ”
His voice trailed off. He would
have stood there blankly if Harcourt
hadn’t taken him gently and shoved
his unsteady form through the door.
The steam engine was hissing
with soft power. As Harcourt
watched, Compton threw the clutch.
The shining piston rod jerked into
life, shuddered as it took the ter-
rific load; and then the great wheel
began to move.
For hours, men had sweated and
strained in relays to make that
wheel turn. Each turn, Harcourt
knew, widened by a microscopic
fraction of an inch the space sepa-
rating the hard energy blocks in
each drive tube, where the fui-y of
atomic power was born. Each frac-
tion of widening broke that fury by
an infinitesimal degree.
The wheel spun sluggishly, ten
revolutions a minute, twenty, thirty
103
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ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
— a hundred — and that was top
speed for that wheel with that power
to drive it.
The seconds fled like sleet before
a driving wind. The engine puffed
and labored, and clacked in joints
that had not been sufficiently tight-
ened during the rush job of putting
it together. It was the only sound
in that great domed room.
Harcourt glanced at his watch.
Four ^minutes. He smiled bleakly.
Actually, of course, Gunther’s esti-
mate might be out many minutes.
Actually, any second could bring the
intolerable pain of instantaneous,
flaming death.
He made no attempt to pass on
the knowledge of the time limit. Al-
ready he had driven these men to
the danger point of human sanity.
Thf violence of their rages a few min-
utes before were red-flare indicators
of abnormal mental abysses ahead.
There was nothing to do now but
wait.
Beside him, O’Day snarled;
“Compton — I’na warnin’ ya.”
“O. K.! 0. K.!” Compton barked
sulkily.
Almost pettishly, he pulled the
clutch free — and the wheel stopped.
There was no momentum. It just
stopped.
“Keep jerkin’ it in an’ out now!”
O’Day commanded. “ ’N’ stop when
I tell ya! The point of reaction must
be close.”
In, out; in, out. It was hard on
the engine. The machine labored
with a noisy, shuddering clamor. It
was harder on the men. They stood
like figures of stone. Harcourt
glanced stiffly at his watch.
Two minutes!
In, out; in, out; in — went the
clutch, rhythmically now. Some-
where there was a point where
atomic energy would cease to create
a full tension in space, but there
would still be connection. That
much of O’Day’s words were clear.
And —
Abruptly the ship staggered, as if
it had been struck. It was not a
physical blow, for they were not sent
reeling off their feet. But Harcourt,
who knew the effect of titanic ener-
gies, waited for the first shock of in-
conceivable heat to sear at him. In-
stead —
“Noiv!" came the shrill beat of
O’Day’s voice.
Out jerked the clutch in its rhyth-
mical backward and forward move-
ment. The great space liner poised
for the space of a heartbeat. The
thought came to Harcourt:
“Good heavens, we can’t have
stopped completely. There must be
momentum!”
In went that rhythmically manipu-
lated clutch. The ship reeled; and
Compton turned. His eyes were
glassy, his face twisted with sudden
pain.
“Huh!” he said. “What did you
say, O’Day? I bumped my finger
and — ”
“You be-damned idiot!” O’Day al-
most whispered. “You — ”
His words twisted queerly into
meaningless sounds. And, for Har-
court, a strange blur settled over the
scene. He had the fantastic impres-
sion that Compton had returned to
his automatic manipulation of the
clutch; and, insanehq the wheel and
the steam engine had reversed.
A period of almost blank confusion
passed; and then, incredibly, he was
walking backward into Compton’s
office, leading an unsteady, back-
ward-walking O’Day. Suddenly
there was Compton, Gunther, O’Day
and himself sitting around the desk;
and senseless words chattered from
their lips.
They lifted glasses to their
NOT THE FIRST
105
mouths; and, horribly, the liquor
flowed from their lips and filled the
glasses.
Then he was walking backward
again; and there was Compton ly-
ing on the engine-room floor, nursing
his shattered finger — and then he
was back in the dark navigation
room, peering through a telescope
eyepiece at a remote star.
The jumble of voice sounds came
again and again through the blur —
finally he lay asleep in bed.
Asleep? Some part of his brain
wa,s awake, imtouched by this in-
credible reversal of pjhysical and
mental actions. And as he lay there,
slow thoughts came to that aloof,
watchful part of his mind.
The electricity had, of course, gone
home. Literally. And so were they
going home. Just how far the mad-
ness would carry on, whether it
would end at the point of light speed,
only time would tell. And obviously,
when flights like this w^ere everyday
occurrences, passengers and crew
would spend the entire journey in
bed.
Everything reversed. Atomic en-
ergy had created an initial tension
in space, and somehow space de-
mantled an inexorable recompense.
Action and reaction were equal and
opposite. Something was transmit-
ted, and then an exact balance was
made. O’Day had quite evidently
thought that at the point of change,
of reaction, an artificial stability
could be created, enabling the ship
to remain indefinitely at its remote
destination and—
Blackness surged over bis
thought. He opened his eyes with a
start. Somewhere in the back of liis
brain was a conviction of something
wrong. He couldn’t quite place the
discordant factor, but it quivered
there on the verge of his brain, an
alien thing that shattered for him the
security of the spaceship.
He strained his senses against the
blackness — and abruptly grew aware
of the intensity of that dark. That
was it! The darkness! The indirect
night light must have gone off.
Odd that the light system shotiM
have gone on the blink on this first
“night” of this first trip of the first
spaceship powered by the new, stu-
pendous atomic drive.
Footsteps whispered, .hesitantly
along the corridor. There was a
knock, and the voice of Gunther
came, strained and muffled. The
man entered; and his breathing was
a thick, satisfying sound that de-
stroyed the last vestige of the bard
silence. Gunther said:
“Harcourt, the dam.n.edest thing
has happened. It started when ev-
erything electrical went out of ordeis.
Compton says we’ve been accelerat-
ing for two hours now at Heaven
only knows what rate.”
For the rnulti-billioiith time, as it
had for uncountable years, the ines-
capable cosmic farce began to re-
wind, like a film— held over!
THE END.
106
liPlillOl
By fi. S. Bichardson
Mm article frepidafion In fhe a$fr&namical
sense— -an the hwqaalifies of time. There is
BOW reason fo believe that some of sclewce-
Hciion's wilder guesses may be Hfsral fact!
Illustrated by F. Kramer
Trepidation, n. LA vibratory oscilla-
tion; a trembling, especially, an involuntary
trembling often due to fear, nervousness,
excitement. 2, Hence, a state of terror,
alarm, or trembling agitation; fright; as to
be in great trefid-atimi.
Webster’s New International Dictionary.
Such is the meaning of the word
as ordinarily used, its meaning as
applied to people. But it also has
another little-known connotation
used to describe a certain rare phe-
nomenon in our Solar System. The
modern scientific definition might
read somewhat as follows:
“Trepidation (astron.) , A mys-
terious surge or wave of unknown
origin affecting the Earth and possi-
bly other planets. Generally ap-
pears as an abrupt and inexplicable
change in the astronomical time
scale.”
Trepidation has been clearly rec-
ognized only within the last decade,
although the data upon which it is
based extend over two centuries.
Out of these thousands of observa-
tions there has gradually emerged a
result so strange, so contradictory to
scientific experience that it seems
more like the wild delusion of a
paranoiac rather than the product
of cold mathematical analysis. Yet
many of the foremost names in theo-
retical astronomy may be found in
the literature of trepidation. Lever-
rier was probably the first to suspect
it, his intuition for the unseen carry-
ing him beyond the figures in his
tables. Simon Newcomb discussed
the effect at considerable length, but
refused to credit its reality to the
end. Not until the twentieth century
did E. W. BroMm of Yale University
and William de Sitter of the Ob-
servatory at Leiden demonstrate the
existence of trepidation beyond all
reasonable doubt. Today the ques-
tion is not so much, “Is it real?” but
instead, “How can such things be?”
“When you hear the tone the time
will be one eleven and one half.”
The tone sounds, and having
sounded, we set our watch and move
on about our business. It never oc-
curs to us to challenge the young
lady’s statement or ask what kind
of time she is talking about. How
the telephone company keeps its
clocks regulated interests us not at
all. We have a hazy notion that it
all starts back at the Naval Ob-
servatory in Washington, D, C.,
where the astronomers get the time
very accurately from the stars, llie
nation has the most implicit faith in
the reliability of these men. Tiiere
is a nice comfortable feeling in the
thought that here is one thing in the
world we will never have to worry
over.
It is a little disquieting, therefoi’e,
107
to learn that recently sudden fluc-
tuations have been discovered in the
length of the day far larger than can
be explained by the action of any
known forces. The rotation of the
Earth was originally selected as a
measure of time principally because
it was practically impossible to con-
ceive of an apprecialsle variation in
its motion. The astronomer has
come to rely upon his apparent star
positions absolutely.
He watches a fast-moving equa-
torial star as it steadily progresses
over the illuminated field of his
transit instrument, automatically
recording its passage across the me-
ridian to a hundredth of a second.
There is a relentless finality about
that moving speck of light that is
terrifying to contemplate, something
awe-inspiring in the knowledge that
no power on Earth can stop it, or
cause it to deviate from its path by
so much as a hairbreadth. Time
and tide, death and taxation, are as
fickle as the wind by comparison.
No wonder that any difference be-
tween the time of meridian passage
of a star and the time shown by the
clock is always attributed to an er-
ror in the clock. That the mecha-
nism controlling the clock should be
right and the rotation of the Earth
at fault is unthinkable.
Time thus derived from the rota-
tion of the Earth as shown by the
apparent motion of the stars might
be given the name of astronomical
time (A. T.) . It is the basis for
the time that governs our daily life,
from which it is easily derived.
But there is another kind of time
just beginning to be recognized that
is more fundamental even than time
determined from the stars. It has
been called by several names, the
most common being Newtonian, or
Universal Time (U. T.) . The con-
cept of Universal Time is hard to
grasp. It may be thought of as that
quantity in the formulas de|cribing
the motions of the planets that can
take any value — the so-called “inde-
pendent” variable of the mathema-
tician. An astronomer calculating
the position of Venus for the epoch
1787.248 is using Universal Time.
The lecturer in a planetarium run-
ning the sky back to the birth of
Christ is using Universal Time, al-
though he doesn’t know it. It is a
time stream that flows on entirely
free from time as deteimined from
the length of a planet’s day.
The difference between A. T. and
U, T. is . generally of the order of a
fraction of a minute, and for almost
all puiposes, no distinction is neces-
sary between the two. The .signifi-
cant fact is not the size of the dif-
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ference, but the fact that there is
any difference at all.
The necessity for being so pain-
fully precise can be blamed directly
on to the Moon. It may come as
something of a shock even to the
astronomer to hear that in certain
respects the Moon would make a
better timepiece than the stars. The
stars move smoothly and majesti-
cally across the heavens in parallel
circles, and aside from minute varia-
tions that can be allowed for, remain
fixed with respect to one another.
The Moon, on the contrary, seems
to be all over the place. But it is
this very fact of its rapid motion
that makes it such a good chrono-
meter, just as the second hand of a
watch gives the time more closely
than the hour hand.
Also, the Moon is one of the most
thoroughly observed bodies in the
Solar System, a careful watch hav-
ing been kept on its whereabouts
since 1750. This long accumulation
of lunar positions provides a check
on every force disturbing its orbit,
some thousand terms being needed
to take them all into account. E. W.
Brown, who devoted most of his life
to the job, once remarked that keep-
ing track of the Moon was like
“iffaying chess in three dimensions
blindfolded.”
Yet after each tiny perturbation
has been computed and its effect
properly applied, the Moon still re-
fuses to follow the orbit prescribed
for it. If we determine where the
Moon should have been at the time
of some ancient eclipse, we find that
it was considerably oft' schedule ac-
cording to the records, and the far-
ther back we go the worse the dis-
crepancy becomes. This is largely
due to the slowing down of the
Earth’s rotation by tidal friction,
chiefly fey water in shallow seas sudi
as Bering and the Irish Seas. At
present it is prolonging tlie day by
STATE
TREPIDATION
109
oiie-tlioiJsaDdt}), of a second per cen-
tnry. So long as we measure tim.e
solely by the Earth’s rotation we
a.re powerless to detect it. Not un-
til bodies exterior to the Earth begin,
to get seriously out of step . in the
march of time do we come to sus-
pect that something is wrong.
Miic-h more startling than the fee-
ble drag of the tides are the sudden
irregular jerks in the Moon’s mo-
tion of enormous magnitude, com-
pared with known disturbing forces.
They can be explained equally well
by upsets in the motion of the Moon
or in the rotation of the Earth. The
question can be decided by finding
whether other bodies besides the
Moon show similar fluctuations, for
if the effect is caused by the Earth’s
rotation, then it should appear in
the motion of every planet, being
largest for the fastest-moving plan-
ets, but identical in time for all.
The best material for the test are
the transits of Mercury over the
Sun, most of which have been well
observed since 1667. It is interest-
ing to note that speedy little Mer-
cury has the somewhat doubtful
honor of being .more valuable to sci-
ence as a geometrical point than as
a physical body. It was in this role
that Mercury helped furnish one of
the proofs of the Einstein theory,
and now he is drafted again to serve
as the locus of a point of space. Sev-
eral other criteria are also available,
such as the orbital motion of the
Earth, Venus, and Mars — transits of
Venus are too rare tO' be of service
here — and eclipses of Jupiter’s satel-
lites.
After many elaborate and pain-
fully technical discussions of these
data, the results are finally in and
admit of but one conclusion: some
jjowerlul and unknmm agency is at
work in the Solar System which acts
suddenly to create abrupt changes
in the motion of the planets. Ac-
cording to Brown, it is as if a mighty
wave or surge were spreading
throughout interplanetary space. It
was to this phenomenon that the
eminent chronologist, the late Dr.
Fotheringham, applied the name of
trepidation.
The PiKST ONE came in 1790 and
was rather gradual, owing perhaps
to uncertainties in the observations.
But the other two in 1897 and 1917
were sharp and well-marked. In
1790 A. T., as shown by the Moon
and Mercury, was thirty-fo.ur sec-
onds behind IT. T. Then A. T. be-
gan to gain on U. T., until by 1863
the two were equal, and in 1897
A. T. had gotten thirty-six seconds
ahead of U. T. In that year some-
thing happened. The trend sud-
denly changed, and A. T. began to
lose at the prohibitive rate of n,earJy
a second per year. Twenty years
later the same something again ap-
peared, and A. T. has been steadily
gaining with respect to U, T. ever
since.
If we assume trepidation to be the
result of alterations in the Earth’s
rotation, then we must be prepared
to explain how these originate. But
no forces can be imagined that could
begin to alter the day by the
amounts the observations dem.and.
The frictional effect of the tides is
insignificant compared with the en-
ergy at work in trepidation.
Are there surface changes 'due to
meteorological action that m.ight be
effective.? Several have been sug-
gested that are fairly plausible quali-
tatively, but fail miserably a.s to
quantity. De Sitter has calculated
that if the Himalayas were removed
to the pole, about one fourth of the
trepidation of 1897 would be pro-
duced. Accumulation of ice and
snow at the poles has been brought
110
ASTOUNDINa SCIENCE-FICTION
forward, but in order to be adequate,
enough water would have to be
frozen to lower the average sea level
by one foot. Brown took the trou-
ble to examine the hydrographic rec-
ords around 1897, but found nothing
unusual.
Failing to find the necessary en-
ergy outside the Earth or upon it.
geophysicists have been driven to
dig inside of it for clues. Tlie only
possibility here is a pulsation similar
to that supposed to account for the
variation in light of certain stars,
but much smaller in amount. An
expansion of the entire Earth of only
a few inches would be sufficient to
account for the changes, but no such
vibration has ever been observed.
By far the most obvious objection
to something originating in the
Earth is the natural question of why
we didn’t know about it when it hit
us. A jolt of this size would have
been hard to overlook. There should
have been thousands of earthquakes
of terrific violence during which con-
tinents sank below the waves and
others were lifted mountain high.
Volcanoes should have darkened the
sky with smoke and ashes, and vast
fissures appeared hundreds of miles
in lengths. But nothing at all ex-
ceptional beyond the customary
floods and storms were reported.
Fothekingham has proposed a
theory of a different nature which
avoids catastrophes comparable to a
second creation, but at the same
time raises other difficulties. Instead
of examining the motions of tlie
Moon and planets, he has used the
mass of Venus as an index, basing
his results on the disturbances she
creates in the positions of the Earth,
and Mars. By the mass of Venus he
TREPIDATION
111
does not refer exactly to the quan-
tity of matter in the planet, but
rather to its mass considered as a
perturbing force on other bodies.
He obtained the remarkable result
that the mass of Venus fluctuates in
phase with the fluctuations shown
by the Moon and the transits of
Mercury. It seems impossible to
believe, however, that the mass of
Venus can in any way depend upon
the rotation of the Earth. Hence he
argues we are forced to conclude
that the fluctuations in the mass of
Venus are real. But we only know
the mass of Venus relative to the
Sun; there is no means of deciding
which is actually changing.
Fotheringham thinks it is proba-
ble that all the planets fluctuate in
mass, the effect being only shown in
Venus because no other planet’s
mass can be measured in the same
way. This movement, or trepida-
tion, as he calls it, is in the nature
of a vast wave spreading outward
from the Sun to all the planets.
Possibly as the Solar System jour-
neys through space it may pass
through regions where time and
space are warped, causing slight de-
viations from Newtonian motion,
just as a fleet of ships sailing abreast
in still water would be thrown out
of line on encountering a whirlpool.
Other hypotheses equally specula-
tive have been advanced, but the
cause of trepidation remains as mys-
terious as ever. Regardless of
whether it is caused by changes in
the Earth’s rotation or in the motion
of the planets, there can be no doubt
of the reality of the effect itself.
Perhaps the next time it comes its
true meaning will be revealed, in
what form we can only guess. This
may be sooner than we think. Pro-
fessor Brown, in a report to the
Smithsonian Institution in 1937,
shortly before his death, revealed
that “the deviation of the Earth
from showing correct time is now
greater than it has ever been since
observations were made with suffi-
cient accuracy, and consequently it
is reasonable to suppose that a new
change may soon occur.”
At the last transit of Mercury, on
November 11 , 1940, the planet sur-
prised astronomers by coming upon
the Sun’s disk a half minute ahead
of the predicted time given by the
Naval Observatory. The exact
cause cannot be stated until the po-
sitions of the Sun and Mercury are
carefully checked, but Mercury was
certainly out of its calculated orbit.
In the meantime we can only
await whatever may be in store for
our little family of planets — with
trepidation!
THE END.
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112
mw UlflLH
By P. Schuyler miller
A very small bird can be a very deadly enemy -. — and
very dangerous weapon for one who knows its ways!
Illustrated by M. Isip
Commander Jeff Norcross was
humped over his workbench with his
long, sensitive nose deep in a tangle
of tubes and wires when the door of
the radio shack popped open, admit-
ting a blast of steaming air and the
reek of overripe Gorgonzola. With
a yelp he flung himself forward over
his apparatus, but a moment later
the smell of cheese became overpow-
ering and something landed heavily
on his back and began to poke
around between his ear and his el-
bow with a rubbery beak.
With a mighty heave of his sHoul-
ders, Norcross sent the creature
spinning and came up with his chair
in both hands.
“Hall!” he bellowed. “Get that
triple-damned gulper out of here be-
fore I break its back! Get it ozit/”
The bird stood just out of his
reach, contemplating him with a
thoughtful expression on its bright,
purple face. It was as big as a tur-
key, with the slightly sinister ex-
pression of a cockeyed goose. Its
head and neck were bare and purple;
its wingless body was a powder puff
of magenta down; its legs were two
feet long, vuth blue ruffles to the
toes; and it had a long, curling red
tail like a rooster and a bright yel-
low beak like a curlew. It smelled
to high heaven of cheese.
Norcross poked at it gingerly with
his chair. The birds were spry and
they had nasty tempers. A clatter
behind him brought him around
with a howl of anguish. A second
gulper was standing up to its knees
in the wreckage of the radio, twist-
ing off bits of copper and gulping
them down as fast as it could gobble.
As he turned, the first bird bounced
past him and into the feast. Nor-
cross hit the roof.
They were going round and round
the shack like a six-day bicycle race
when Dave Hall finally heard the
racket and came to investigate. One
of the gulijers was ahead, squealing
bloody murder in a canary soprano,
its long neck stretched out, its cerise
wattles flapping, its pantaletted legs
pumping for dear life. A length of
copper wire was trailing from the
corner of its bill, and it was trying
desperately to swallow as it ran.
Jeff Norcross was right behind, his
splintered chair leg making vicious
swipes, and behind him came the
second gulper, its spine feathers on
edge with indignation, murder in its
popeyes, whoojjing like a hoarse Co-
manche and clacking its beak hope-
fully.
Hall watched them through the
door port while they made two
rounds, then opened the door a crack
and snagged the second gulper as
the parade came by. He held it by
the neck at arm’s length, with its
stubby claws swinging wickedly a
IIS
The tiny thing was a Hash of color across the
clearing, too swift for human eye to follow —
couple of inches from his vest, went dunked it. The bird snapped at him
over to the rain barrel, scooped off disconsolately and stalked off, drip-
the scum of yellow algae, and ping color, just as Norcross and the
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION
H4
otiier gulper emerged from the shack
and took themselves off down the
path toward the park gate.
Dave was methodically assem-
bling the remains of the radio when
Norcross returned. The older man
had blood in his eye and a six-inch
patch out of the back of his coat
where the irate gulper had landed on
him. He stood in the door for a mo-
ment, opening and shutting his
mouth, then slammed the remains
of the chair leg down and flung him-
self into a chair. It collapsed.
“Borers,” Hall pointed out help-
fully. “Birds’d clean ’em out if
you’d let ’em. What happened to
the radio
“What happened?” The com-
mander’s blood pressure was on the
upgrade, but he was struggling
dauntlessly to keep cool and calm.
“You stand there and watch those
birds of yours eat my copper and you
ask me what’s wrong? You stand
there with that beautiful piece of ap-
paratus busted to 'smash and you
want to know what’s larong? Omi-
gawd! When will they send me a
man who can use the brains they
stuffed him with?”
“How’d they get in?” Hall wanted
to know.
‘’You let ’em in, you poisoned
pup!” The patrolman’s beetling
black brows were bristling, and his
little mustache was on end with rage.
“Time after time I ask you to keep
your birds out of this shack. I beg
you. I order you. You can have
’em anywhere else. You can bring
’em into mess and feed ’em out of
my plate. You can let ’em roost in
iny bunk and lay eggs in my dress
jacket. But you can’t have ’em in
here! I mean it! I’m through!
This one goes on the wire!”
The grin slid off Dave Hall’s
bland young face. The easy-going
Norcross had perhaps made his first
assignment in the space patrol easier
than most commanders would have
done, and he had a certain taste in
practical jokes himself outside the
line of duty, but a black mark in
the x)ost report wa.s a black mark for
life. This was serious.
“Look, sir,” he said earnestly.
“You’re wrong about that. I mean
this time. I was in barracks when
I heard you call. Maybe the door
was ajar or something.”
Norcross eyed him suspiciously,.
The rookie was no liar. “O. K.,” he
snapped. “Maybe it was. Maybe
it wasn’t. I heard the latch click
when it opened. There’s something
ratty going on around here, anyway.
That I'adio didn’t just up and die.
Some lug’s been monkeying with it
— sending personal calls to his floo-
zies in Laxa, like as not. Break out
the emergency kit — we’ve got to
build us a new one.”
The space-patrol post at the
edge of the huge Venusian forest
preserve never rated more than a
two-man garrison unless there was
trouble brewing. The patrol was
there for window dressing, to repre-
sent the triplanet council and give
an official air to what went on iti
the name of conservation and sci-
ence. The i-angers who patrolled the
preserve itself and acted as guides
for tourists were paid by the VeniiKS
government. They didn’t like the
patrol, and the patrol didn’t like
them. Chances were, Dave thought,
that the chief was right. Some
ranger had sneaked in to use the
powerful transmitter for a private
call and bollixed up the works.
Then he’d let the gulpers in to cover
up for him.
“Who’s on the gate?” he inquired,
Norcross glared at him. “Spin-
BIRD WALK
ney!” lie snorted. “May his guts
bloat! I’ve had enough of him, too.
Ihni're going to print this whole
shack, inside and out, and if I find
thiit he’s been in here he’ll go on the
wire in six languages!”
Hail nodded. Of all the rangers
— .some of whom, he admitted off the
record, were pretty nice guys — Spin-
ney was the most obnoxious. To
liegin with, he was somebody’s
nephew and he used his pull to the
limit. He was sleek and natty at all
times, in a climate that would distill
the lard out of soapstone, and he had
the telltale pallor that proved he
took bleach baths to remove the
nasty sunbium he picked up on duty.
He was patronizing and officious,
and it was the dearest hope of every
patrolman who was ever stationed
at the park that Captain Hector
Spinney ivould get lost in the woods
and be eaten by mice. Only he
never went near the woods. He did
a little office work to keep his hand
in, and when his appraiser’s eye
spotted a neat bit of gluteal arc in
a party of tourists he would occa-
sionally come down off his throne
and give them the privilege of his
personal attention on a tour of the
tamer portions of the preserve.
Unfortunately, Spinney had been
in the radio shack with full au-
thority any number of times in the
past, and his fingerprints were prob-
ably all over the place. The patrol
radio was the official medium of
communication for all governmental
agencies in the park area, and there
wasn’t a member of the staff who
hadn’t been in the shack at some
time. Hall pointed this out. He
got no reply, but he didn’t expect
one. Norcross was not one to en-
force unreasonable demands. He
began quietly to assemble the miss-
ing parts which would be needed to
restore the radio.
AST--3
Presently Norcross had cooled
down enough to be human. “What
you been doing?” he asked. “Chas-
ing birds again? Whyn’t you leave
that kind of spap to the rangers?”
By grace of somewhat phony
feathers, eggs, wings, and a few other
similarities, Venus had birds just as
it had fishes, lizards, and men. Evo-
lution on Venus arid Earth, directerl
by a limited number of usable com-
binations of certain vital chemicals,
had taken parallel courses in parallel
environments. Biologists were not
even ready to swear that hybrids be-
tween the flora and fauna of the two
planets might not be possible with
a little test-tube diddling. Stranger
things had happened.
Dave Hall’s hobby back on Earth
had been birds, and he had brought
it with him to Venus. He reveled in
the rather startling new varieties of
feathered life that swarmed in the
jungle sanctuary. The Icru, the half-
amphibian natives of Venus, had
never seen any need for boats, and
had consequently never discovered
the island on which the preserve was
located. The first zoologist to see it
had howled loudly until it was pro-
claimed a national park, and now it
was one of the show spots of the
planet.
“Yep.” Dave had only half heard
his superior’s question. Then it
penetrated. “Say — yes! I was out
all morning. And I found me a
king-teller!”
“Yeah?” Norcross ignored such
birds as he did not violently dislike.
“VHiat about it?”
“It’s new here,” Dave explained.
“It isn’t even in the official lists for
the park. Fact is, they’re rare any-
where. The kru had an idea that
they were spies for their headmen —
you know the old gag about ‘a little
bird told me.’ Well, the kru had a
story that these royal tits — that’s
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
lie
t,he book name for ’em — were in-
formers, and the first Earth settlers
picked it up. I guess there were
plenty of uneasy consciences in the
old days, because they just about
wiped the species out. The natives
and jungle rats .still pot them on the
sly. They’re scared stiff of ’em:.”
“That so?” Norcross seemed in-
terested. “A new one, huh — that
Spinney and his pretty boys couldn’t
find? Keep it up, kid. Good thing
to have a hobby. Keeps a man from
going space-happy if he gets a sin-
gle detail or goes on garrison with a
guy whose guts he hates. That’s
how I got started on radio. I was
alone for fifteen months on an aster-
oid the time I worked out the hep-
tad circuit.”
Hall beamed happily. Jeff Nor-
cross had quite a reputation in the
patrol, both as. an inventor and as a
ma.n. “Ornithology isn’t such a hot
hobby for a patrolman, I guess,” he
adm,itted. “You don’t find many
birds in space. But I like to study
’em when I get the chance. I lo-
cated a brush hen this morning, too.
They’re related to the gulpers, you
know: when a hen’s setting she’ll
swallow anything you offer her and
hold it in her crop until the eggs are
hatched. I’m going to feed her Spin-
ney’s badge some day.”
Norcross had repaired the damage
to the radio and was intent on the
settings. Reception had been bad
enough in the past ten days, thanks
to -sunspots and the general atmos-
pheric cussedness of the planet, be-
fore the set blanked out. He sent
ou,t the station’s call signal and filed
his routine report, then as headquar-
ters came in he stiffened in his chair.
He waved his hand wildly for the
pencil that Hall slipped into his fin-
gers and began to scribble like mad.
All the recruit heard of the conversa-
tion were his “Yes, sir,” “Yes, sir,”
“We’ll do that, sir.”_ Then he
snapped the shut-off switch and sat
back.
“The Gem’s gone,” be said flatly.
Dave Haul gaped. The Gem wa-s
the peculiarly colored star ruby, the
size of a hen’s egg, that one . of the
first explorers had found in the pos-
session of the km. At the time of
the first revolt, when t.he settlers
pulled away from. Earth and set up
their own empire m),der a crafty ex-
congressman. from Kansas, it had be-
come the symbol of royal authority
over the entire planet. Since the
return of democratic government
under the council, it had been in tlie
Laxa Museum under heavy gua,rd.
Twice in the past generation it had
been stolen and used as the symbol
of revolution, and twice the patrol
had brought it back and, squashed
the spark of revolt.
“When?” he demanded. “How’d
it happen?”
Norcross frowned. “This was a
slick job,” he said thoughtfully. “No
violence — nobody killed — but some
very smart individual with ideas of
his own got it — and he’s on his way
here.”
Dave came up on his toes with a
click. “Here?”
The commander nodded. “They
are sure of that. They’ve been try-
ing to raise us since about t,he time
the set broke down. Somebody nee-
dled the guards with some fancy
dope tha.t stopped tim,e for them, for
about ten minutes. In that ten min-
utes someone in a museum, guide’s
uniform cut out the alarm, opened
the case with a key, took the Gem,
substituted a fake, and got out.
They didn’t spot it until the
check-up when the guard changed.
But the only people in the place who
had left when the alarm was given
were a party of tourists — and
BIRD WALK
IW
they’re on their way here.”
“Gee!” Hall’s boyish face wrin-
kled in thought. “What’ll we do?
Search ’em?”
Norcross, shook his head. “We’re
not in this yet,” he said glumly.
“The Venus Council wants to keep
it hushed up for fear that the news
will start a lot of crackpots rioting.
They won’t call on the patrol till
they find they’re stuck, like last
time. No — it’s Spinney’s baby. It
was in the orders he got this morn-
ing before the set went bad. Funny
he didn’t say anything about it.
Hell — it isn’t that big a secret!”
Dave had been thinking. “Look,
chief,” he said, “even if it isn’t our
job now, we can’t afford to miss any-
thing. If they’ve narrowed it down
to one party — and I’ll bet a button
it was the patrol that siaotted them
this quick — they must be pretty sure
that the thief still has the Gem on
him. If he has, there’s a reason why
he’s with this particular tour. There
are dozens of tourist parties in the
museum every day, but they don’t
all come here afterward. Unless he’s
hiding the Gem on the boat coming
over, that means he’s going to leave
it here. It’d be easy to cache it
somewhere on the nature tour and
come back for it later, or pass word
to an accomplice. I’m going around
with ’em and keep my eyes open.”
Norcross stared at him. He had
been thinking just that himself.
“Go to it,” he agreed. “You haven’t
got long. There’s the boat — and
here comes Spinney.”
I’he head ranger was as tall as
Dave Hall, and nearly as broad. His
gray-green uniform was flawless, and
his spiky mustache waxed to a nee-
tlle point. He thrust open the door
and stood on the threshold, one knee
cocked forward jauntily.
“All!” he exclaimed. “Radio go-
ing again? Then you’ve heard the
news. This is my job, Mr. Nor-
cross. . When I M'ant the patrol I’ll
send for it. Suppose you both stay
right here where I can find you. I
am guiding this party myself, and
no one will be allowed on the pre-
serve without my permission. Un-
derstood?”
The two patrolmen glared at the
closing door. Dave Hall let out his
temper in a long hiss. “Chief,” he
declared tautly, “that stinker is in
this. He knew about the radio. He’s
warned us off the preserve. He’s in
it!”
He strode to the window and
looked after the retreating ranger.
Spinney was standing on the terrace
in front of the barracks, watching
the tourist launch swing in to the
landing. Dave’s eyes narrowed. He
turned to his superior. “If it please
the captain,” he snapped, “I have
urgent personal business which re-
quires my immediate attention. I
am not on watch until six o’clock.
Have I the captain’s leave?”
Norcross bristled. “What do you
mean? Any of your nonsense and
we’ll be on the grids. Use your
head!” . .
“Yes, sir. This is personal busi-
ness. I will not wear the uniform
of the patrol. Have I leave, sir? I
... I expect to study birds.”
A little spark gleamed in the older
man’s eyes. The boy had stuff in
him, and they’d taken Spinney’s
leavings for a long time. “You have
my leaAm,” he said gruffly.
The ranger was halfway down
the leafy tunnel that led to the park
gate when he heard Hall’s racing
footsteps behind him. He turned
with a frown just as a man-sized fist
came up and caught him neatly on
the jaw. His knees V’d out and he
dove into the bushes.
Still wriggling the ranger’s uni-
118
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
form into position on his somewhat
ovei’size shoulders, Dave Hall stood
at the gate watching the tourists
come up the steps from the boat.
The whole thing now depended on
the two rangers with them, Chase
and Williams. If his hunch was
good. Spinney had not told them
about the ruby. They liked the
head ranger no more than he did,
and they might — they just might —
string along.
There were six visitors, and any
one of them might be the man he
wanted — or the woman. One cou-
ple looked like second honeymoon-
ers: a white-haired ‘old gentleman
with a military goatee and an army
backbone, and a little old lady cling-
ing to his arm. It might be a gag
—the whole party might be in this
together — but Hall had a hunch it
was a lone-wolf affair. Probably the
thief was a Venusian — or in the pay
of someone with royalist aspirations.
The man next to the old couple
looked like a politician or a grocery
magnate. He had on a spotty white
suit, an elaborately tapestried tie,
and a huge diamond ring. It was
a good front if it wasn’t genuine.
Then he saw the ghi and his eyes
narrowed.
In two centuries, climate and diet
had done certain things to the men
and women of Earth who had come
to live on Venus. Although there
had been no mixture with the kru,
white Venusians had become more
and more like the little natives.
There was a yellowish cast to their
skin, and their hair had a bluish
tinge in the right light. Their com-
plexions were smoother and creamier
than other people’s, particularly the
women’s. Their lips were fuller and
darker red, and their eyes had queer
coppery flecks in the iris.
This girl was tall, and she had
long legs — longer than most native
Venusians’. She was burned a deep
brown — a most peculiar brown,
Dave thought, almost golden under-
neath. She wore dark glasses, al-
though at this season of the year
the sun rarely broke through, and
her hair had been dyed. Of that he
was sure. It was a silky ash-blond,
but her eyebrows were dark — and as
the light struck them they were blue!
She had Venusian blood!
He stalked to meet them with an
exaggerated imitation of Spinney’s
strut. The other rangers must be
certain that this was a practical joke
or the whole thing would be off. He
studied the other tourists: a .short,
stout woman with gray hair and
heavy shoes, who by no stretch of
the imagination could ever have
posed as a museum guide, and a
soft-looking, heavy-set man in a
trick hat who seemed to be sticking
close to the girl. Dave decided that
his lips were too full and red, his
face too white, and his clothes too
perfectly up to the minute.
He saw Chase’s mouth beginning
to open and a puzzled look growing
on Williams’ freckled face. He stiff-
ened, clicked his heels and gave a
flourishing salute.
“Chief Ranger Hall, ladies and
gentlemen,” he proclaimed. “At
your service! Captain Spinney’s
compliments, and he is regrettably
detained by official business. He
has delegated me to conduct you on
a specially arranged tour of the pre-
serve, which will include some jrarts
not generally opened to the public.
May I have the honor.!'”
Tom Chase’s wide mouth had
shut, but there was a suspicion of a
grin of it. He introduced them:
Colonel and Mrs. Porter, the old
couple, on a diamond-wedding tour;
Professor Vedder, of Yale, the “poli-
tician”; James, the heavy-set man
BIRD WALK
119
wko was wearing purple glasses and
skin-tight gloves; Miss Anderson,
the stout schoolteacherish female.
He kept the girl for the last, and
D,ave knew he did it deliberately.
She was a Miss Wandreau. of New
York, and Dave cursed under his
breath as he tried to place the name.
New York was his home town, and
he knew every pedigree in the social
register, but he couldn’t place a
Wandreau. And yet the girl was
familiar — he’d seen her before, some-
where. The trouble was that some-
where was a pretty big place.
She had a fragrance that made
his head swim. Her voice did things
to the little hairs along his spine.
“Shall we see Captain Spinney be-
fore w'e leave?” she inquired. “I
hoped to meet him. I’ve heard so
much about him from mutual
friends.”
“Yes!” It was the spotty-looking
professor. “I’ve written him. There
are things we must discuss. Can’t
we see him before we begin the
tour?”
Dave was ticking over half-sub-
merged recollections in his head at
a furious rate. “Professor Yedder,”
he said, “don’t you teach orni-
thology at A’ale? I’m sure I was
in one of your classes.”
The little man clawed out a pair
of pince-nez and balanced them on
his nose. He tipped his head back
and looked Dave up and down.
“Hall? Hall? I don’t remember
you. I don’t remember any Hall in
the service? Who are you? How
long have you been here?”
Williams — good old Goose-boy
Williams, Avho always had a couple
of gulpers tagging him, snapping at
the brass eyelets of his boots — came
to the rescue. “Hanger Hall was
recently promoted and transferred
here, sir,” he volunteered, “He has
a way with bii'ds. He’s like a father
to them.”
That M^as a dirty crack, having to
do with a clutch of gulper eggs which
Dave had smuggled out of the park
for omelette and smuggled back
again as chicks, with Williams’ help,
when they hatched in his duffel bag.
He let it pass.
“I made a discovery only this
morning which I am sure will inter-
est you all,” he announced. “I re-
corded the Venusian royal tit for the
first time within the limits of the
park.”
He was looking straight at the girl
as he spoke. For a moment her eyes
flashed behind her dark glasses, but
her only reply was a smile. The
professor rose to the bait. “Indeed!
Miss Anderson — Colonel Porter —
this will be a rare treat! You re-
member the legend I was telling you
on the boat — the story of the king-
teller. Shall we see it?”
They should. Dave was most
anxious to oblige. He watched their
backs as they preceded him through
the gate. The teacher and the little
professor were out, except as accom-
plices. They were too short and
stout to have worn a guide’s uni-
form. Porter — evidently a retired
military man— was tall enough and
had a deep spaceburn that would
hide the telltale Venusian yellow in
his skin. His hair was white, and
Venusians rarely changed with age,
but it might be bleached. James
was plenty big enough, and so, to
his satisfaction, was the girl.
Dave Hall was in his element,.
He knew the park better than many
of the rangers, to begin with. He
shepherded his little flock through
all the usual trails, keeping an eagle
eye on their every move and patter-
ing away at the usual guide-book
marvels. He was nearly caught out
120
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
0X1 botany, but the teachei', Miss
Anderson, turned out to be a vocif-
erous and opinionated amateur in
the field, who was willing and anx-
ious to argue fine points with the
professor. The others 'dutifully
looked and listened and were led on
their way.
He gave them a good time, by his
standards. After all, they might all
be innocent, and some of them cer-
tainly were. None of them had tried
to pul! anything as yet, and he
doubted that anyone would until he
called the signals.
He led them down-wind on a
colony of giilpers and let them throw
pennies to the ravenous birds, whose
insatiable craving for copper in any
form was a standing mystery in sci-
entific circles. He showed them the
tiny tufted dipper, no longer than a
man’s thumb, whose single mem-
branous egg is laid in the cup of a
certain huge fungus, where it soaks
up dew and rain water and swells
to three or four times the size of the
parent bird before the heat of the
sun begins to incubate it. He
showed them a female jug bird,
neatly walled up in a kind of clay
jar by her mate, her head sticking
out of the narrow neck, while her
eggs hatched. He showed them the
little golden bee birds, with trans-
parent membranous wing's like
great feathered insects, that nest in
great colonies in waxen cells, and the
gaudy green-and-white stone-picker
that builds itself a nest of colored
pebbles cemented together with its
gluey saliva. He showed them all
the park’s usual wonders, with varia-
tion.s, and then he lined them up and
made his spiel.
“Folks,” he told them expansively,
“we’ve come to know each other
pretty well on this little tour of ours.
Ordinarily we would be turning back
at this point, but Captain Spinney
arranged a little something extra for
the special benefit of those of y<n.i
whom he has — met — before. He
was to have conducted you himself,
but Commander Norcross of the
space-patrol post here received cer-
tain news which made an immediate
conference necessary. I have the
captain’s full confixJence, and while
our further tour may to some extent
transcend the regulations, I am sure
you will understand and appreciate
the captain’s interest in your enter-
tainment.- Miss Wandreau — this
section of the sanctuary may be
rather hard on white shoes. May I
apologize in advance.!*”
She smiled. “You’ve been very
entertaining so far, Mr. Hall. I’m
sure we are all looking forwuird to
your fuiiher revelations.”
“We’d hardly want to miss what
Spinney planned for us.” That wa.s
James. The man was nervou.s, and
he hadn’t enjoyed a brief brush
with a harmless flying reptile
which Dave had captured and fed
to a banded bell bird. The olhers
were equally voluble, so with a grin
of appreciation Dave led the way
into the underbrush.
It was late spring, and the trail,
even shaded as it was by some of
the densest jungle on the preserve,
was dry enough to walk on. Other-
wise he would never have persuaded
them to try it. He Jet Miss Ander-
son and the professor discover new
plants and beautifully repulsive
fungi for themselves, and concen-
trated his attentions on the others.
The brush hen was the first move
in his game, and he was somehow
pleased to see that the girl .spotted
it first. It was James, however, who
pointed it out. They had been
studying a tiny mouselike creature
which Dave had found for Mrs. Por-
ter, clinging to the underside of a
BIRD WALK
121
leaf, when James spotted a glint in
the bird’s eye. “What’s that.?” he
whispered.
Dave chuckled. “Recognize it,
professor.?” He bent over what
looked like a splotch of dried blood
on the forest floor. The brush hen
cocked a bright yellow eye up at
him, opened a ducklike beak lined
with bright scarlet, jaointed it sky-
ward, and howled.
He gathered the bird up under
one arm and let the w'omen pet it
while it nibbled at his buttons and
made hopeful stabs at the girl’s jet
earrings. “It’s a brush hen,” he told
them. “Professor Vedder will tell
you that it belongs to the same
genus as the gulpers you saw earlier.
When the female is brooding, as this
one is, she will swallow anything you
cram down her gullet.” He fingered
the bird’s distended crop. “Feel
here — she must have gobbled down
half a dozen small stones.”
A thrill ran up his spine as the
girl’s fingers touched his. He felt
her eyes on him, behind the impene-
trable di.sks of her glasses, and his
own eyes hardened as he spotted the
telltale wash of blue at the roots of
her hair.
The brush hen made a grab at
Colonel Porter’s fob and nearly had
it. Laughing, Dave set the bird
back on its nest, where it promptly
began to howl again.
“It’ll shut up when we leave,” he
told tlie others. “The male is proba-
bly somewhere out there in the
Ijrusli, waiting for us to go. If you
miss anything when we get back to
the post, you’ll probably find it in
this })ird’s crop. Captain Spinney or
I will get it for you. We’re the only
ones who know where the nest is.”
He let them stroke the bird and
feed it pebbles and coins while he
talked witli the professor. A small
warblerlike bird flitted across the
trail, lit on a vine and burst into a
deep bass solo before vanishing into
a knothole. He used it as an excuse
to move away from the brush hen,
and he noticed with satisfaction that
Miss Wandreau, James, and the
Porters lagged behind and had to
hurry to catch ujj. Everything was
happening right on schedule and ac-
cording to specifications.
They had seen the furred mouse
•bird that nests under stones, and
heard the distant halloo of a saffron
guide bird — ^the first, incidentally,
on his own list. He explained how
the bird’s human-seeming call had
led many a lost hunter or explorer
into difficulties, and gave them a
look at the morass in which it nested.
The guide bird gave him another
out for a f)roblem which had been
worrying him. Spinney couldn’t
stay tied up forever, and when be
was found the pursuit would be on.
He might be able to pass off the
shouts of the posse as bird calls —
given a lot of luck, None of these
people were fools.
The forest was quite open here,
and the party had spread out.
James and the girl were a little way
ahead, and the Porters were lagging
behind, while Dave compared notes
with Miss Anderson and the profes-
sor. Then the girl screamed.
In a flash Dave was beside her. It
was as though the forest had opened
at her feet. A huge flat creature
squatted there in a shallow pit, its
warty back tufted with lichens and
evil-colored fungi, its flat skull plas-
tered with shreds of decayed wood.
Its narrow, yellow eyes glared up at
them, and a slender scarlet tongue
had licked out and wound about her
ankle.
Dave felt the girl trembling under
his fingers. He bent close to her ear.
1S2
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
“Steady!” he murmured. “Let’s give
them a show.”
Ever so slowly he crouched down
beside her; then, with a lightning
snatch, had the monster by the
tongue. Instantly it unwound from
the girl’s ankle and coiled around his
wrist. James, who had been stand-
ing petrified a few feet away, leaped
back to safety, but the girl stood
still, looking down at him.
“Every Venusian baby is scared
good with one of these things,” he
told her. “It’s quite harmless, un-
less you happen to be a small animal
or a ground-nesting bird, but you
can’t convince a native-born Venu-
sian of that. They think its touch
means death. They’ll swear its
breath is deadly, and that it can
paralyze you with one glance of its
eyes and swallow you alive. It’s the
bunk! Look!”
He reached out, caught the crea-
ture by one foreleg, and heaved it
over on its back. It lay there, hiss-
ing and kicking, until he tickled its
sulphur-yellow belly, and then it be-
gan to bubble like a great teakettle.
The girl smiled, took an uncertain
step forward and went down in a
'heap.
Several minutes passed before she
was herself again. Dave Hall’s
brain was in a whirl. The weight of
her slim body in his arms as he
picked her up — the perfume of her
hair — everything about her told him
that it couldn’t be so, but it was.
It must be! Skin — hair — complex-
ion — they all checked. Unless he
was wrong from the start, the thief
had Venusian blood, and there was
no one else who fitted. He had to
be right!
“I’m sorry this happened,” he told
them apologetically. “The jungle is
always unpredictable. If that crea-
ture had been dangerous. Miss Wan-
dreau might have been dead before
Mr. James or I could reach her.
Luckily it wasn’t — except to some-
one who believes the native stories.”
Their backs were up; he could see
that. The women had taken charge
of the girl, and James had picked up
her purse and gloves. “Eve had
quite enough of this exhibitionism,
and I’m sure the others have, too,”
he snapped. “If you’re through with
your little surprises, perhaps you will
take us to Captain Spinney.”
“He’ll hear of this!” It was Por-
ter. “If you had been attending to
your duties as a guide, this would
never have happened. Take us back
at once!”
Hall was a bit pale. He’d muffed
things. “Professor — Miss Anderson!
I can show you the king-teller in a
very few minutes, and the oppor-
tunity may never come again.
There’s really no danger.”
“Certainly not!” Colonel Porter
was ramrod stiff with indignation.
“There fs something very peculiar in
all this. I am thoroughly acquainted
with the service which you claim to
represent, and it would never toler-
ate the familiarity and impudence
which you have shown. That uni-
form was never made for you. Take
us to Captain Spinney at once!”
It was Mrs. Porter who turned the
tide. “Come, George,” she said, tak-
ing her husband’s arm. “Don’t be
an old ninny. We’ve come all this
way and we’ve had a very good
time, and we certainly don’t want to
go home without seeing the rarest
bird of all. I’m sure Miss Wandreau
agrees.”
The girl’s smile looked a bit wan,
Dave thought, but she nodded.
When he led the way he was by him-
self. James and the colonel had con-
stituted themselves her bodyguard,
and he saw that the fancy boy still
had her gloves.
BIRD WALK
Haijj bubbbd in the story of the
king- teller as they walked. He told
one version of the story and encour-
aged the professor to amplify it. He
egged Miss Anderson on to ask ques-
tioos and answered them in detail.
And all the time it seemed that lie
could feel three pairs of eyes boring
into his back, searching his mind.
The thief was on his guard now, and
anything conkl happen.
“Mr. Hall,” the teacher de-
manded, “is there anything in this
legeiid? Can a bird really detect
treason ?”
He shrugged. “Venusians believe
it,” lie replied, “and they should
know. It’s not only the kru, though
they had the story first; every na-
tive-born Venusian I ever met had
been brought up on the same yarn.
It’s not impossible, you know,”
“Rubbish!” Colonel Porter bris-
tled with hostility. “I’ve been on
every habitable planet in the Sys-
tem — did it before you were born —
and these native superstitions are
poppycock. Nonsense! Damned ig-
norant natives start ’em and a lot
of ignorant nobodies keep ’em going.
Eh, professor?”
The professor looked uncomforta-
ble. “You are both right,” he said
lamely. “It is possible that a cer-
tain race, or people with certain hab-
its of life, may have an impercepti-
ble but characteristic odor which is
attractive to these birds. It is also
quite possible that under the influ-
ence of superstitious or guilty fear
this odor will change and infuriate
the bird so that it will attack the
terror-stricken person. It is well
known that dogs and some insects
will smell and attack fear in a hu-
man being. Why not a bird? And
yet — I cannot bring myself to be-
lieve it.”
‘T can.” The girl’s voice was very
low. Her hand was on .James’ ariiij
and the man’s full lips were twisted
in a sneer as he watched the others.
“I had a Venusian nurse — a woman
whose ancestors came from Earth
with the first explorers, and who had
been a child among the kru. She
was homesick for ’^^enus, and she
told me many of its legends. She
was an intelligent woman, and an
educated one, and she believed.”
They had come to the clearing
where Dave had found the bird that
morning. The place was ablaze with
flowers, and he suspected that the
king-teller’s nest was somewhere
nearby. Suddenly he saw it, a scar-
let dot darting among the gaudy
blossoms of a pepper cup. He felt
the professor’s fingers on his arm,
and heard Miss Anderson gasp. The
tiny bird seemed to be w'orking in
their direction. Looking over his
shoulder, he saw that the others had
stopped at the edge of the clearing.
“There was another story your
nurse may have told you,” he said
softly. “Certain men in the king’s
service could call the king-teller and
summon it to smell out treason.
These men understood the bird’s lan-
guage and could taUc to it. They
were the ones to whom it reported.
This is how it was done!”
Pursing his lips, Hall whistled — ■
a high, trembling shriek, more like
the squeak of a. mouse than a bird’s
call. Instantly the tiny bird paused
in its flight. It hung in midair, a
scarlet mote, and as he squeaked
again it darted toward him and hov-
ered a foot from his face, seeming to
stare into his eyes. He gave a new
note, a shrilling twitter, and it twit-
tered in reply. He turned.
“A certain thing was stolen from
the museum in Laxa,” he said. “A
royal thing, whose theft was treason .
The thief was a Venusian, and he is
124
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE- FICTION
here. He is one of you. O bird — ■
which is he?”
He whistled again, that same low,
tremulous, shrilling twitter. He
stepped back slowly, his fingers slid-
ing down to the gun at his belt.
The bird was facing the little semi-
circle of people, and their eyes were
fixed on it. Dave tried to read those
eyes— the professor’s, little and
wary; Colonel Porter’s, hard and
bright; Mrs. Porter’s, dark with
trouble; 'the tccicher’s, round with
amazement; and James’ and the
girl’s, hidden behind their dark
glasses.
Like a dart of fire the king-teller
moved. It hovered before Miss An-
derson; it hung for a moment over
the professor; then, like a glowing
spark, it drifted toward the Porters.
Dave’s hand closed on his gun, but
it had passed them. A shot crashed,
and another. The bird wavered;
then, with a M'histle of fury, it hurled
itself at James, who stood with a. gun
in his hand and his teeth showing
between his full red lips. He turned
to run; then the bird’s long needle
beak struck him full in the temple.
He went down, with the body of the
bird pinned like a bright-feathered
dart to his skull.
Close by came an answering shot.
A moment later Norcross crashed
through the bushes, followed by
Chase and Williams.
“What’s happening here?” the
commander demanded.
“Where’s Spinney?” Dave asked.
Norcross snorted. “Where he’ll
keep! When Williams found him he
was raging, out to get your pelt and
nail it on his door. Then I men-
tioned that you’d found a king-teller,
and Chase said that you were going
to show it to this gang. First thing
we knew he poked a gun in our guts
and I had to slug him. Then we
came looking for you.”
“There’s your thief,” Dave told
him. “JameKS. He had me fooled
with that skill bleach and dyed hair.
His lips and eyes would have given
him away, but he wore glasses.
Even so I should have tumbled, but
I had my own camlidate. I was too
sure. Well — the king-teller knew the
truth .”
The girl laughed softly. “Was I
your candidate, Chief Ranger Hall?”
She had taken off her glasses, and
there were no specks of any kind in
her eyes. They were blue — just the
clear, cool, transparent blue of the
open sea that Dave Hall hadn’t seen
for ten long years. “The Dave Hall.
I knew, yea.rs and years ago on the
rocks at Ogunquit, is in the space
patrol — not the rangers.”
“Toni! Toni Bevis! Oh, nxis I
an a.pe! But what’s that fancy name
— a.nd what happened to your haii"?
It was black when you were twelve.”
A terrible suspicion overca,me him.
“It is Miss Wandreau?”
She Ia.ughed. How could he ever
have forgotten that laugh? “It is.
Mother married, again. But how
could one of the supermen of the
space patrol possibly fail to recog-
nize the product of a New York
beauty expert?” She touched her
golden cheek. “Venusia.n bronze^ —
done under special la..mps. I’m all
like that.” She puckered up her
lips. “Venusian Kiss — the very lat-
est shade. It’s said to be irresisti-
ble.” She ran her fingers through,
her hair. “This is really new — -
Venusian blue. Ladies of fashion in
New York look more like Veiiiisia.ns
than the rea.l thing n.ow, Patrolman
Hall.”
Norcross ha.d been kneeling by the
cleard man. “O. K.I” he barked. “So
you’re bosom pals. Now where’s the
Gem. It’s not on him.”
Dave blushed. “Maybe I did go
BIRD WALK
125
all haywire, but that part of it’s all
right,” he said. “I figured that I
was either to take the thing from
whoever had it, or signal him where
to liide it. Nobody made any move
to slip me anything, so I told them
how very palsy I was with Spinney,
and how he’d planned the next act
specially for them, and then took
’em o^'er to see a brush hen. You’ll
find the Gem in the bird’s crop any
time jn)u want to look for it. Tom
Chase knows where the nest is — he
showed it to me this morning.”
He looked sheepishly down at his
feet, stuffed into Spinney’s too-small
boots and punishing him violently
for the sacrilege. “I have a confes-
sion to make,” he said. “That moss-
back was a put-up job, too. I sort
of held the rest of you back so Toni
■ — Miss Wandreau — would be the
one to blunder into it, and when I
galloped to the rescue like the rang-
ers are always supposed to do, I
doused her hair with a little moon-
flower juice. I knew that would at-
tract the king-teller, and I figured if
she was really a Venusian she’d
break. It was a pure fluke that
James went off his boiler and tried
to kill it. That’s bad stuff. Those
birds won’t take it. You saw your-
self what happened.”
He knelt down and gently pulled
the tiny bird’s bill out of the wound
it had made in James’ temple. The
sharp beak had been driven clean
through the thin bone. The king-
teller lay in his palm, a little fluff of
rumpled red and black feathers.
“Maybe the prof would like this for
his collection, if it isn’t needed as
evidence,” he said.
Miss' Anderson was yanking vio-
lently at his elbow. “Look!” she
cried. “Look! I saw it breathe!
It’s only stunned.”
As she spoke, the bird stirred, It
tucked its tiny feet under it and
wabbled along until it could grasp
his finger. Suddenly it was in the
air, a buzzing, squeaking mite of
fury, swinging I’ound and round their
heads in ever-narrowing circles.
Dave went white. The moonflower
in Toni’s hair!
It hung before her like a scarlet
bubble, and she stared back into its
beady ej^es. It swam closer on blur-
ring wings, until it was touching her
hair with its beak. Then it was
gone, so swiftly that none of them
saw it go. They glimpsed it for a
moment among the flowers, then it
rose in a mounting spiral and van-
ished over the treetops.
Hall shivered. “I guess maybe
you’ve had enough of birds for a
while, folks,” he said. “I’ve put you
all to a lot of trouble, and I’d like
to make up for it. Won’t you be our
guests — the chief’s and mine^ — for
dinner before you go?”
Norcross looked sourly from him
to the girl. “Sure,” he said. “We’d
like to have you. It’s sort of mo-
notonous out here by ourselves all
the time. It just happens that Pa-
trolman Hall is cook tonight, so you
can be sure of a good meal.” He
grinned evilly at Dave. “I’m sure
Chase and Williams will be glad to
amuse Miss Wandreau while you’re
washing the dishes. And another
thing. Those pet gulpers of yours
found your uniform where you left it
after you slugged Spinney. They
ate all the brass buttons. Maybe if
you can make ’em cough ’em up and
scrub the cheese off ’em, one of the
ladies will sew ’em on again for you
while you’re peeling the potatoes.”
He jerked a thumb over his shoul-
der. “Get going — ^kitchen cop!”
THE END.
126
THE HOimilDE 6Un OF 00011100
Not quite ten years ago four British artillery ofRcers of the Colonial
Force, stationed near Peshawar in the northwest frontier province which
separates Afghanistan from the Pundjab, received an invitation to inspect
a gun that had been manufactured — to be taken literally: made
by hand — by the blacksmith of Jamrud, a Pundjabi from Campbellpore.
He had worked for ten months in his open shack and the workmanship
of the gun was nothing short of excellent. The “machine tool” used had
been an ancient lathe, driven by a one-cylinder kerosene motor that would
itself be an exhibit for any museum maintaining a department for the his-
tory of engineering. The factory was an open shack, the tools were ancient
and poor, the material was secondhand — but the craftsman was a craftsman.
His giin had a caliber of 2.75 inches, obviously modeled after the 2.75-inch
mountain gun of the British Colonial Force.
But it was the barrel of the gun that really caught the interest of the
visitors. It had been fashioned from a locomotive axle, and since the lathe
apparently could not handle pieces of such huge size — the entire barrel was
sixty-seven inches long — it had been made in two parts, joined together by
means of a locking ring with interrupted threads. It was, however, neatly
1 ‘ifled on the inside, with twenty grooves and one full turn for thirty calibers
of length. The breech differed much from that of the mountain gun that
had served as a model, either because the blacksmith had never had a chance
to inspect such a breech closely or else because the work had proved too
difficult for him, although the latter seems hard to believe. He had developed
a design of his own, working with spring and firing pin, and influenced in its
aiTangement by the design of an automobile valve.
The charge consisted of one pound of black powder; an old cartridge
case had been pressed into service as a firing tube, reloaded after each shot.
The firing chamber of the gun was seven and one-half inches long, just the
right size to accommodate that cartridge. The projectiles were shaped like
ailillery shells, they were seven inches long and weighed seven pounds, but
they were solid cast iron. The blacksmith had built a primitive cupola fur-
nace in which to melt iron scraps, and poured the projectiles into sand forms.
After cooling, they were machined on the same lathe that had made the gun,
and were gTooved so that a copper driving band could be hammered on.
The gun was pulled into an alleyway between two houses and
aimed across valley and village at a heap of white stones, about a thousand
yards away. The first projectile produced a cloud of dust five yards to the
right of the target. The native gunner bit his lips, reloaded the cartridge
and the gun in turn and aimed Wry carefully. And the second shot actually
was a clean hit. The natives did not trouble to conceal their pride, and they
talked about their achievements at length diuing the voluminous breakfast
that followed the “maneuver.”
The British officers were somewhat at a loss as to what to think and
what to say about the whole thing. The boast of the natives that a real
2.75-inch mountain, gun would have needed at least six rounds to score a
direct hit on the target was probably justified.
Willy Ley.
m
THf [ni)iin£tfis
By Burt von Radieo
Ike Kilkenny C&fs — even supplied! with framp&rt by
Gailbraifh's efforfs—sfill wanted fo destroy themselves!
Illustrated by Scbneeman
Steve G atlbraith lifted himself breaking glass_ somewhere in the old
from his bed and listened intently, royal battleship Fttry.
laggardly reacting to the sound of He was not quite certain that he
1S8
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
h.a.(l heard anything for he had been
deep in a. musing doze. Nothing
else reached his ears. The obsolete
bulk of the Fury was throbbing
through the bottomless ink of Canis
Major, just as she had for the past
three days. Several minutes later
an air lock sucked itself shut with a
swoosh and a clang and Steve lay
back. The watch had probably jet-
tisoned the corpse of another “green
fever” victim belatedly dead. Scur-
rying footsteps brought Steve up-
right again, for they seemed to be
approaching his cabin. They did not
stop but sped on up the companion-
way at the end of the passage.
Steve got up and looked out. For
several seconds he stood listening,
but a draft was swirling about his
bare legs and he again crawled into
his bunk, ill at ease.
Minutes dragged by, but nothing
further remarked the Fury‘s burrow-
ing through space and Steve relapsed
into his doze. Past events, he told
himself, had made him unreasonably
jumpy.
The series of sounds had inter-
rupted his review of the past hours
for their turbulence and end had
left him doubtful as to any success
in parleying with these fools.
The ingratitude of the lot of them
and the swiftly worn away thanks
for his deliverance of the expedition
from, slow slaughter, did not rankle
upon Steve. Four years ago he
might have brooded, but four years
a.go he had been a different being.
Colonel Steve Gailbraith, politically
radical deserter from the Royal Air
Corps, had nearly broken under the
short shrift given him by the men
for whom he had victoriously fought.
Once through v/ith the need of him,
Fagar, Dictator of All, had repaid
Mm., not with medals but with trial
and membership in the Sereon Ex-
pedition. The People’s Government,
it seemed, had no want of men,
bright enough to overthrow the
leaders who had oveithrown the
throne. Steve Gailbraith had gone
into the revolt with hundreds of his
brother offi,cers beca,use they, too,
had sickened of the Royal tyranny
and the sight of a world starving in
plenty. But they had not really
known Fagar. They had not known
what Fagar might do to those he
thought dangerous to him, no mat-
ter how m.uch they had helped him.
The Sereon Expedition might bet-
ter ha,ve been called the Suicide Ex-
pedition, for Sereon of Sirius had
wiped out one colony already. Fagar
and, his new ministers were not
stupid. Oh, no. Their ally, the
Sons of Science, led by Jea,n Ma.ii-
chard, might bring their disagree-
ment with the people’s party into a
second revolt, for Jean Mauchard
did not like to see the streets turned
into a feeding trough for blow flies,
did not like to see ten thousand a.ris-
tocrats herded into a. coal mine and
left to the.ir agony, while a people’s
band played loud enough to keep
the moans and weeping of children,
from disturbing the slumber of their,
commissioner.
Jean Mauchard, high member of
the scientific caste, had a scientist’s
thirst for truth and accuracy, re-
gardless of the consequences. Jean
Mauchard discovered Fa,ga,r’s soul
when he walked, into the palace, un-
fortunately to witness the brutal tor-
ture of the Emperor of All and what
Fagar did. Jean. Mauchard ex-
pressed his horror and attempted to
plead for the em,press in, the na,ine of
humanity and the glory of man.
Fagar, slimy with the shovel’s scum
in a sixth level mine, had never
heard of the glory of man.
Jean Mauchard had poured his
sulphuric acid on Dave Blacker
THE MUTINEERS
129
when loud, unrepressed Dave
Blacker had attempted to prove that
the scientists had not at all aided
the longshoremen in the northwest
war.
Jean Mauchard hated anything
which savored of the officer’s caste
for, as a scientist, Mauchard saw in
them nothing but a force trained to
destruction. Hence, Mauchard
hated ex-Colonel Gailbraith and was
even now jealous of Steve’s feat in
getting them off Sereon, getting
them a ship, trying to keep peace.
Vicky Stalton was not the sort of
woman a man with red blood and a
heart could hate. The torch of lib-
erty girl, who had waved the mil-
lions of sorely oppressed on through
blood to victory, was the daughter
of a nobleman, but he had never
given her name. She had fought up
from the gutter to a position as pro-
pagandist and had developed her
talent too well. Jean Mauchard
thought her a tricky liar at best and
failed to credit her with strength and
courage enough to blast Fagar after
she discovered that she had been
writing and crying lies.
Steve moved restlessly in his bed.
Tlie fools were saved. If they held
a solid front now, they could be free
of Fagar upon some far planet.
Fagar woidd try to find them, would
send some scouts of the old royal
fleet after them at the very least,
for they had defied him. Emperor of
All! They had stolen the ship sent
to finish them if their mutual hatreds
had not. And if, at any time, they
relaxed, they might again meet
Fagar — and instant death. Fagar
had not dared finish them off. Oh,
no. He had glorified them and a
program to push out the limits of
Earth control, knowing all the time,
as the public cheered them, that
they went to a doom manufactured
out of tlieir own animosities.
The conference ended a few hours
before had left Steve exhausted. It
had made him apathetic with the
realization that he was trying to save
men who did not want to be saved
but only to exert their own wild
wills. Several hundred longshore-
men, women, children, captive crew
members, Mauchard’s men, Vicky
Stalton and Steve were at stake un-
less some agreement were reached.
From past performance,\ one would
have thought they would listen to
Steve. They had not. They had
cried him down as a traitor to his
own corps, as a shifty rascal intent
on saving his own boots and had
swept away every plan he had of-
fered.
Dave Blacker, blatant and stub-
born, disliked the military, disliked
scientists, propagandists, dictators—
Steve burrowed wearily into his
thermobag, as though by doing so
he could get rid of this problem and
these people. He felt particularly
low, for in the row about the ward-
room table, he had unleashed his
parade-ground voice, had hammered
so that a pitcher of water had over-
turned. And unpredictable Vicky
Stalton, dodging, had cried above his
roar: ^
“What are we? A pack of Royal-
ist soldiers? If you keep that up,
you’ll get bellow for bellow. Ye gods
of Aramus! Is this a parley or a
hog-calling contest?” And, flirting
water from her ragged little uniform
tunic, had stomped from the ward-
room.
Later, he had knocked at her door
and had said to a segment of her
face, “I’m sorry.”
“For trying to. drown me?”
“Yes. With words and water.”
“That’s better.”
In her tone he had understood
that she had been righteously wait-
130
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
ing there, knowing he would come,
certain of his apology —
“Only one thing,” he had said, his
annoyance stirred, for he was weary
and heartsick with the stupidity of
them, “the next -time I’m having dif-
ficulty in trying to get a point over,
I wish you wouldn’t throw your
weight on the other side.”
“I did no such thing. You can’t
call me an ally of Blacker or that
mule Mauchard!”
“I didn’t call you an ally,” he re-
torted. “But it’s your neck as much
as it is mine. I’ve got enough to
fight M'ithout a dumb blonde step-
ping in — ”
She slammed the door of her cabin
and left him there afume. He was
tired. He was irritable. It took
him an hour or more to see that he
had browbeaten her without cause.
Well, to hell with the lot of them.
Mauchard wanted to head for a
place he called New Terre which
swung about Procyon in Orion.
Mauchard claimed that a friend of
his, a Royalist Scientimajor named
Gabrille, had stated his intention of
heading for that place in case the
Royalists lost. Mauchard claimed
that New Terre already had a small
Earth population and that uranium
ore, stadiatite, from which inertion
was made, duo-iron ore and many
other valuable minerals were there
in abundance.
Mauchard had said that they
could help the colonjz, attract other
refugees to them and soon enter into
trade with unconquered peoples on
other planets and, in short, make
themselves strong enough to defy
Fa gar.
With a longshoreman’s distrust of
mines — bred from the propaganda
atrocities of the supervisors in sub-
levels — Dave Blacker had taken the
stand that Mauchard’s crowd was
trying to delegate the longshoreman
faction to the laboring side of it and
enslave them by scientific trickery.
Steve had attempted to cross-
question Mauchard on the scientist’s
knowledge of the place and gathered
that Mauchard relied upon his friend
Gabrille. Mauchard was right about
the size and position and climate of
New Terre, for all that was written
at length in “Space Directions” as
Mauchard proved. When Steve had
countered with the doubt that such
a valuable colony would remain un-
attacked when robbed of the pro-
tection of Earth in flames, and had
added his belief that they might find
anything from Garcons to Mirion-
ites in possession, Mauchard had
forsaken argument for scathing per-
sonalities.
Steve tossed restlessly. They had
settled nothing. They were roaring
through the empty dark without
destination, liable to any attack, un-
able to man the Fury’s best defenses
through lack of trained crews, ripped
by discord and suspicion.
Damn women.
What ailed Vicky? It did not oc-
cur to him that Vicky, too, was un-
der as great a strain as he. Some of
the Royalist disdain for the new
order and its freedom for women
was still with Steve. He might lose
his ideals, his faith in man, his lust
for honor, but he could not quite
adjust himself to the idea that a
woman had a right in council equal
to a man’s. Therefore, he could not
see that she, too, took some of this
burden.
The intership phone was at hand.
Several times he had wanted to take
it down and talk to her, but he
knew that she would probably wind
it up into another argument, or that
he would blast at her again.
He resigned himself to troubled
pondering upon his own fate. There
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132
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
seemed to be but one point of am-
bition glowing in him and that was
hardly one of which a former officer
and gentleman might be proud. He
wanted to see Fagar on his knees in
the muck, digging his own grave
with the shovel he had plied so long
in the mines and then drop Fagar’s
beast-body into it with a blast frorn
his own hand. There was so much
raw, red satisfaction in envisioning
that, that it almost frightened Steve.
Indeed, revolt did drag men down
below the very animals which they
reviled.
Steve sat up and reached for a
cigarette out of the late Commis-
sar Lars’ own box. He watched it
glow as it lighted itself, bis mind on
other things.
But there was something very
strange about the way this cigarette
glowed. Instead of a red coal at its
tip it had a weird, green flame.
For Vicky, the mask had come too late. The gas
had put her too deep for any hope of relief now —
THE MUTINEERS
133
Steve stood up, staring. He
hauled half a dozen in a row from
the box and each one glowed in a
simila;rly ghastly fashion.
Was it poison?
Did Mauchard or Blacker or a
member of the beaten battleship
crew want him out of the way that
badly?
I'here was a nerve-tingle in the
thought. Like a whir of turned
leaves from a military text, all avail-
able information raced through his
mind.
He had to be sure of this. He
pulled a flame cartridge from the
seargim on the wail and bit off the
end. He heaped a few grains on the
edge of the washstand and touched a
burning cigarette to it.
The thennilian flared greenly.
Green, when it should have been
brilliant crimson!
Steve swung open a locker and
swept down a rack of masks. His
expert glance sorted the right one
and practiced fingers suctioned its
three-inch diameter to his nostrils
and mouth. He took his first breath
since the thennilian had flared.
He had not noticed how groggy
he had been until now when the
lethargy sloped off. He flicked on
the master lights of the navigator’s
telltale board in this, the senior navi-
gator’s old room. The gas gauges
were registering one hundred and
three. The spectrum analysis band,
when the switch was thrown from
outer to inner atmosphere, glowed
with unmistakable lines. The place
definitely contained morpliogene,
known to the sailors of the old navy
as “Mrs. Molly’s Dream Darling,”
because it was also used in a Venu-
sian dive, run by that lady to roll
the unwary spaceman.
It was sometimes used in case of
mutiny, having its main outlet in
the crew’s quarters and the armories.
There was no vent at all in the offi-
cer’s superdeck, so that Steve had.
gotten the little which had crept into
his cabin via the ventilating systems.
If he had been asleep, it would have
taken him as it had already taken,
beyond doubt, the rest of the crew
and anyone in the lower decks. Or,
had he been asleep with it for hours,
days, perhaps weeks?
Motive-analysis was not a
course in which Plebe Gailbraith
had shone, probably because it had
coincided with a period when Steve
had been writhing through his first
spasm of puppy love with the school
commandant’s charming daughter.
But it did not strain his meager
memory of that subject to deduce
that Blacker would not use it, for
Blacker probably did not know of it
and would prefer force. That left
the captive officers of Fagar and
Mauchard. But the officers of Fagar
were under bomb-locks in the dou-
ble-belly. And Mauchard would
favor a minimum of brutality —
hence, morphogene and not instant -
killing G-984, known as Statue Stuff.
Mutiny!
Jean Mauchard had found a way
to enforce his will with a minimum
of argument.
Poor old Fwryl Her bulkheads
were stained with the still-dark
blood of her Royalist officers. Her
bridge deck was chipped by the
spaceboots of men not fit to feed
her barrels. Rusty and stinking
with unrepaired abuse, disgraced by
a flag of corruption in the service of
Fagar and now a pirate without a
flag, commanded by sick renegades
in mufti, disgraced again by mutiny.
He felt kinship for this vessel, for,
as a middy, he had proudly stood
his watches aboard her, had seen an
emperor praise her, had helped her
134
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
gingle-lianded battle with an entire
enemy fleet. He had known the tra-
dition into M^hich they had both been
bom and knew tradition now was
dead.
He, too, felt degraded and un-
clean. The last letter he had re-
ceived from his father, shortly after
Steve’s desertion to a cause he felt
glorious and just, had predicted such
an end for him:
“You who have brought the name
of Gailbraith into contact with the
filthy scum of mankind’s lowest
dregs, may suppose righteous justice
to be your destiny. But know that,
no matter how bad may have been
the treatment of the people, justice
can never be brought about by the
breaking of word, by brute force, by
the obliteration of a, class. The way
of revolt is only the way to the de-
struction of an those things for
which our civilization has stood. Re-
volt is the debaser of man, for there
be no excuse for rape and ravage
until calm counsel has failed. If you
have definitely chosen the way of
your going, then know that force
breeds force and death breeds only
death and that your finish, no mat-
ter your ‘victories,’ cannot be other-
wise than as you chose to live — with
dishonor, with degradation, without
friend or flag, unmourned and with
your clay merged with the filth to
which you allied yourself in life.”
He had thrown the letter aside,
marking it off to a man’s belief in an
outmoded system, a father’s disap-
pointment in a son. But he could
not cast aside the memory. For as
the years of battle had rolled for-
ward, so had it come true. He had
broken his pledge to his service and
now no pledge given him was valid.
And he hurtled through the empty
black without flag or friend or desti-
nation, unless it be that of the ex-
ecutioner’s arc chamber, unless he
died through Mauchard’s clumsi-
ness.
Again he saw Fagar, digging his
own grave and dying, strangled in
its muck. Mauchard sought to rob
him of that.
A CHILLY RAGE slowly took hold of
Steve Gailbraith. He despised his
own predeliction for fatalism. He
was fettered b3^ a background belief
that he could do nothing about the
environment’s grip upon himself.
He was fettered by circumstance,
yes. But not chained to the extent
that his destiny could be spelled out
by thirteen men and a bitter old
man, more vengeful than competent.
He took down a seargun and
looked into it. He put on an old
Royal spacecape he had found for-
gotten in this cabin and swung it
over his pajamas.
As he climbed the spiral ladder to
the superdeck, the guard, a young
scientist named Smithton, started at
the apparition of what he at first
took to be a Roj^alist officer. But
Smithton was not one of Blacker’s
bullies, and superstition had no part
in his make-up. He swung a blastick
at Steve and pushed a buzzer for
Mauchard.
Steve moved into the bluish light
of the bridge lock. He was alarmed
when he saw his own face reflected
in the glass wall, for his cheeks were
sunken and his eyes so far recessed
as to be reflected not at all.
Mauchard stepped into the lock
and looked through the glass at
Steve. He slipped a mask OAJ-er his
nose and opened the lock door.
Steve strode over the dyke and en-
tered the eyes of the ship. Two Sons
of Science jumped up from the re-
sultographs and covered him with
small blasticks. Steve took off hi.s
mask.
“Step up the gas content of the
THE MUTINEERS
135
air below,” ordered Mauchard. A
tliird Son of Science hurried into an
adjoining cubicle. “Well.^” he said
sliarply to Steve, “how is it that you
are about.?”
“Maybe I didn’t get as big a
whiff of it in my cabin,” said Steve.
“But that isn’t the point. What are
you about?”
“But one is tired of arguing with
fools, he has to act as his superior
knowledge directs,” said Mauchard.
“Now you can either take this tablet
here or walk back through the lock
without your mask. I will not toler-
ate interference from you.”
“Are yon heading for New Terre?”
“We are almos’t to New Terre.
Mdien you awaken you will be safely
landed.”
“Then the rest of the ship has
been out for ten days or more.”
“Twelve.”
“You gave no heed to my warn-
ing that there might be people un-
friendly to humans at your New
Terre. In four years of civil war
anything might take place this far
into space. Have you given a
thought to that?”
“I have and I seriously question
“Have you given a thought to
your responsibility for the lives of
these hundreds of people in case that
small chance exists? You may, even
now, be streaking forward to certain
destruction for all of us, either at
the hands of an Earth fleet or a
strange population. You can’t fight
with thirteen men!”
“You cannot talk away my reso-
lution,” said the gaunt leader of the
Sons of Science. “I suppose you
would rather take Blacker’s counsel
and turn pirate. I, sir, am no mur-
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and the enlightenment of mankind.”
Steve gazed at Maiieliard’s ca-
daverous face for several seconds
and read there the unswerving pur-
pose. This man had a goal of quiet
years of research so deeply planted
in him that he would not turn aside
for anything. There was no argu-
ing here.
“I will not brook interference, sir,”
said Mauchard. “Either take this
tablet or go back without your
mask.”
Steve threw his mask upon the
floor and turned to the lock. He
paused there a moment before he
opened the inner door and looked at
Mauchard as thmigh seeking some
way to convince this man of his risk
to them all.
“I might be able to help if you
ran into trouble,” said Steve.
“I want none of your help,” stated
Mauchard.
The thought of meeting the dan-
ger he had begun to sense and have
no power to thwart it, was akin to
illness. Steve went into the lock and
closed the door. The outer door was
opened for him by Sinithton. Steve
reeled as the morphogene engulfed
him.
The young, masked scientist might
have been grinning, though his
mouth was hidden.
“If I were you,” said Steve, “I
would go back inside the bridge, re-
gardless of orders.”
Smithton’s voice was muffled. “I
want none of your advice.”
“Nevertheless, only a fool would
overlook any indicator to death. If
I am awake and can stand here in
this gas-soaked air, remember there
might be others also immune.” He
said that with his temples going in
and out like miniature accordions.
He could not hold on very many,
seconds without showing the effect.
“There is no immunity. Go back
to your cabin before you fall down
THE MUTINEERS
137
ana i have to carry j-’-oii back.”
“I have been hit with morph ogene
thirty times,” said Steve. “A man
can develop a tolerance even to ar-
senic.” The floor seemed to be sway-
ing now, ready to strike him in the
face. “I am going below now and
I’il be back with reinforcements.
Others are awake aboard this space
can .
He stepped to the top of the spiral
ladder, his back to Smithton. It was
difficult for him to keep his mind on
what lie was to do, what he had fig-
ured Smithton would do.
Smithton did it. He snatched out
and caught Steve by the shoulder,
his blastick directed another way for
the instant.
Steve whipped a hand behind him.
As though impelled by some magic
catapult, though only by. his own
helping shift of weight, Smithton
somersaulted over Steve’s head,
sailed down to strike the rail and be
turned by its curve while still in
flight. Smithton struck heavily at
the bottom and lay still.
That much activity almost cost
Steve the last of his wits; He
gripped the hand rail and fumbled
and fell down the ladder. He felt
Smithton under him but could not
see, for the gas had taken toll of his
sight. Steve felt weightless. His
arms were jelly. His fingers that
fumbled for Smithton’s mask carried
back but faint sense messages.
With the last of his consciousness,
Steve clamped the mask upon his
own mouth and nose and then
sagged sleepily down, gulping in the
purified air.
The knowledge that they might
see them from above, brought Steve
around more swiftly than his body
liked. He crawled down the passage-
way to his cabin and summoned up
enough strength to heave Smithton
to the bunk. He covered the young
Son of Science with the Royalist
cape.
Moment by moment, Steve was
coming around. Anxiously he
crouched down over the navigator’s
telltale board and threw on its lights.
Touching a button which sent a bil-
lion cubes of light-years blurring un-
der the glass, he saw the three-di-
mensional charts slow, go by, halt
and then creep back. Two metal
arms, worked by heavy calculating
machines, slid rustily across the
table and converged above the space
chart. A third, which was a polar-
ized shaft of light, stabbed up from
below, through the chart. The first
two arms quivered and warped so
that they sagged into the cubicle
chart. A brilliant spot of light
gleamed in three space — their posi-
tion a.t the moment according to the
master calculatoi’s on the bridge.
Another button depressed and the
chart was blown up a hundred thou-
sand times in size, its former limits
j)ushing outward and vanishing in
the frame.
Steve fluttered the leaves of
“Space Pilot” and located the data
relating to New Terre of Procyon.
Talcing its constant and feeding it
into the space body plotter, he read
it off and comparing it to the main
chart, identified it as the sphere
neai-est to them dead ahead. It was
plain then that not more than four
hours were left of their journey.
What waited for them on New
Terre? If it was' as rich as Mau-
cliard maintained, then certainly it
would be held down by either Fagar
or some horde of mysterious space.
With the exhaustion of fuels
throughout the Inner Empire, at
least an armed geological scouting
party would be encountered. Mau-
chard’s friend Gabrille might have
138
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
been speaking idly when he thought
of it as a future refuge. Of course,
if Gabrille wm on New Terre of
Procyon, then all would be well —
for Mauchard and his crowd.
Blacker apd his longshoremen,
though this point had not much
sympathy from Steve, would be re-
duced to something only slightly
better than slavery and Vicky and
Steve would find themselves com-
plete outcasts, with no way to estab-
lish position and, hence, life. What-
ever happened, everybody but Mau-
chard and his Sons of Science would
lose.
Even now, her super decelerators
were throbbing.
Speculating swiftly, Steve sought
an out. Any out. But he alone
could do so little and the rest of the
ship was gripped in enforced slum-
ber —
Blam!
The Fury shuddered from bawels
to dust armor.
Btmig!
She rolled like a strychnined dog.
From her upper turrets came a
weak chatter of disintegrators. Their
recoil accelerated the ship, lifting
Steve back from the navigator’s tell-
tale. They had passed the area of
bombardment and were turning.
An abrupt silence swept through
the battleship, achingly unfamiliar
after days and days of continuous
barrel discharge either from bow or
tail. A minute or more of this and
a weak sputter of stern bari'el ignit-
ers was heard, mounting into a
shrill, useless whine. This was fol-
lowed by a sharp, stabbing crackle
of secondary arc ignition and the sob
of emergency liquid gas pumps.
And then, again, dull silence.
Steve pushed through the pas-
sageway to Vicky’s cabin. He
kicked in the lock and sent the door
splintering back.
Vicky lay huddled in a thermo-
bag, her small face pale as a dead
man’s, her straw-colored hair lying
out over her pillow. So much did
she look like death that Steve’s
heart lunged within him. He
snatched down the rack of masks
and found a right one which he fitted
over her mouth and nose. He took
a cloth and soaked it in water, plac-
ing it against her face. When she
did not stir, he anxiously felt her
pulse but could not discover any
throb of blood. He shook her bru-
tally.
“Wake up! Vicky. Wake up!’]
He battered through the medicine
cabinet and brought out an ancient
remedy, ammonia. He broke the
tube and held it close under her
chin.
And still she did not move.
There was no lowering or rising
of her breast, no flutter of eyelids,
no beat of a heart to greet his anx-
iously listening ear.
“VICKY!”
Ashes were in his throat and acid
in his eyes. His hands trembled as
he shook her anew.
She was the color of a corpse.
Beautiful, jaunty Vicky. Vicky
and her wisecracks, her disdainful
smile.
“ — your finish, no matter your
Victories,’ cannot be otherwise than
as you chose to live — Mu'th dishonor,
with degi'adation, without friend or
flag, unmourned and with jmur clay
merged with the filth to which you
allied yourself in life^ — ”
Fredericky Stalton, the Torch of
Liberty Girl — the very spirit of the
revolt —
“Vicky—”
He let her down to her pillow and
drew the cover across her face. He
was too stunned to move, but stood
touching her fingers which lay still
THE MUTINEERS
139
\"isible, bone-white upon the dark-
blue bed.
ELANG!
BLANG! ELAM! ELANG!
Acid in his eyes and ashes in his
throat. He picked himself from the
scarred metal deck and steadied him-
self against the passageway wall.
BA All
Again the Fury trembled and
leaped sideways under the impact of
bursting hell. Holding to the rail
Steve crept down the ladder to the
mid-deck. All but the ghastly blue
emergency lights were off now and
by their awesome gleam, he found
Dave Blacker’s cabin.
Dave Bi^ackee was lying on the
floor, tangled in his giganticallj^
checkered topcoat, his round, hard
hat tumbling back and forth as the
Fury lurched, its tumbling speaking
of a, new gravitational field. Black-
er’s knotty hands M^ere still clenched
to the chair by which he had at-
tempted to pick himself up after the
morphogene had taken him.
Steve kicked aside the G-231 mask
Blacker had attempted to use and
from the lockers of this, the first en-
gineer’s room, got out a morphogene
disk. He clapped it on Blacker’s
face and then spilled a basin of water
on the labor leader. The shock of it
and the newly purified air made
Blacker stir. Steve kicked him sol-
idly in the shins and the pain
brought Blacker into sitting posture,
glaring about him as he gasped.
“Get up!” said Steve.
“What — Who the devil — ”
“Get up!”
Blacker’s glare intensified but he
got up.
“The ship has been gassed. Mau-
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chard is on the bridge. Something
has attacked us. Get that into your
skull and get it there fast before
we’re all done, -in.”
“My men! Where are my men.?”
“They’re knocked out and have
been for twelve days. We’re some-
where near New Terre of l^rocjmn
a.nd our tubes are out of commis-
sion.”
Blacker staggered under tlii.s load
of information. “Wdiat . . . what
are we going to do.?”
Steve had never thought to have
Blacker say that to him, ever.
“Come with me and bi'eak out some
of your men — the husky ones.” He
stepped to the engineering telltale
and pushed the spectrtim analysis
button. The lines tallied with that
of a cylinder which spun and
stopped, spun uncertainly and swung
to morphogene. The meters read
sixty-two.
“Mauchard has cut off the gas.
Come along.”
Blacker lumbered after him into
the crew’s quarters. Men were
sprawled here over a card game,
there across food. Some who had
been off watch were sleeping.- A pile
lay where the Sons of Science had
dumped them inside the double
doors. Children were sprawled
where they had been at play and
women in various attitudes over
sewing or reading. Here and there,
as the gas thinned and fresh air came
in, people stirred groggily.
Up from aft came three Sons of
Science, one of them holding a blood-
soaked bandage to his face. These
had been standing a tube watch with
two others now lost. They saw
Steve blocking their way and halted,
looking da,zedly at him with the leth-
argy of those who have looked over
the brink into the gaping blackness
of forever.
“What has happened aft?” said
Steve.
“Gone. Roasted to hell!” said the
THE .MU-TINEEKS
141
one with the wounded face. “Byi-e
and Frankson — dead.”
A longshoreman was trying to sit
up. Steve hauled him from the
bunk and shook him into awareness.
Another pried himself from a card
table and tried to straighten a stiff
neck. Steve sent him spinning into
B lacker’s arms and his leader cuffed
him awake. Six men were quickly
recruited.
Steve said to Blacker, “There are
two gun turrets on either side for-
ward of the tubes. If you two,” he
turned to the scientists, “figure out
the firing mechanism, I want you to
stand by with your crews at either
gun.”
“I’ll help,” said the boy with the
bleeding head.
“Come with me,” said Steve.
“What am I supposed to do.?”
growled Blacker, hating to have to
ask for orders, but lost in the sud-
den efficiency of defense.
“Rouse out your men,” said Steve.
“Hold them here until I see how
things look.”
“Is that all?” growled Blacker,
“You’ll find some of the men of
the old crew know their guns. Find
those and man all batteries.”
“All right,” said Blacker glumly.
Steve went aft through the air-
tight compartments until he came to
one which refused to open. Beyond
this, then, the ship was blown in.
He moved with swiftness, nerv-
ously as though if he stopped, some
awful thing would catch up to him.
Only his training made him act, for
all that was capable of feeling in him
seemed dead.
Later would come wrath. And
Mauchard would pay for what he
had done. But now came action.
Steve swanned up the spidery lad-
ders which led to the sixth observa-
tion post, an invisoglass turret
mounted on the battleship’s back
like a raindrop on an elephant. The
vantage here was not as good as the
meteor post above the barrels, but
one glance around from it told Steve
all he wanted to know.
The thick black engulfed the ship.
But the Fury’s hull was agleam with
the rays of Procyon which appeared
from here only slightly larger than
fajaway Sol himself, ten light-years
and an almost invisible dot at
Steve’s back. The yellow-white bril-
liance of the gigantic Procyon made
a hemisphere of softly hazed lumi-
nosity across the starboard sky.
P-C.Mn.-313, otherwise and un-
ima,ginatively. New Terre, went
from half to three-quarters, seeming
to revolve slowly, as Steve watched
it. He could see the seas upon it as
burnished metal beneath the clouds;
small seas they were, not connected
but more like lakes. Shadows
showed several low mountain ranges
spreading apart to border the bodies
of water. It was difficult to see color
but one could imagine a dark green-
ness in the black splotches which
were plains.
They were probably eight or nine
thousand miles out from New Terre
and its gravity was slowly sucking
them down. Mauchard had ob-
viously run in very close on his first
approach, for try as he would, Steve
could see no sign of hostile space
cruisers.
Perhaps it had not been an attack
at all. Perhaps the stern tubes, fed
by inexpert men, had blown —
He picked up the phone and was
reassured by its crackling. He
looked into the control bridge
through it and saw Mauchard star-
ing anxiously at New Terre.
“Wliat happened?” demanded
Steve.
Mauchard whirled and faced the
intership screen. “Leave me alone!
143
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
I want none of your kind of help,
Gailbraith.”
“You’re in no shape to want or
unwant,” said Steve. “I’ve an af-
fair to settle with you later. What
happened
Mauchard glared stubbornly and
then said, “Batteries about the city.
We’ll swoop within range again when
we get around to the dark side. Onr
orbit is elliptical and all the steering
mechanism is smashed.” His voice
broke. “Bow and stem tubes.
Smashed! If they have guns like
that, they’ll have a fleet as well,
waiting for us!”
Steve faced the phone to the
coaming so he would not have to
look at Mauchard. He had enough
to think about without remember-
ing—
They would crash into New Terre
or, if Steve brought them off, float
helpless in space, for they had no
spaceboats to accommodate so many
nor trained crews to man them. And
if they landed with Garcons or God
knew what strange race awaiting
them —
Steve threw the phone switches
and looked at the crew’s quarters
where Blacker was still hauling long-
shoremen on their feet.
“Blacker! Get gunners from the
crew and man all guns to starboard.”
Blacker looked at the flashing
panel. He must have had a glimpse
of the nearness of New Terre for he
quickly sent two men to rouse out
crew members.
Steve vsi'ATCHED New Terre go
away from them and revolve, or ap-
pear to revolve, into its full light.
They continued outward from it un'^
til it was again a hemisphere and
during the next half hour, they
swung with it still astarboard and
began their swoop back on its dark
side.
The phone whirred and lighted.
It was Blacker, looking haggard in
this, a strange situation. “All the
guns that’ll work are manned.
Wliadda I do now?”
“Fire the starboard guns at Pro-
cyon,” said Steve.
“Hell, we wasn’t attacked from
that way. I heard a — ”
“Do as I tell you,” said Steve. “Or
die and be damned to the lot of
you!”
Blacker caught that commanding
note in the teeth. He went forward
to pass the word.
The phone whirred and Mau-
chard’s starved face appeared. Mau-
chard’s thin hair was awry and his
dark, sunken eyes ablaze! “You
are issuing orders! I intend to sig-
nal that we surrender. I did not tell
them who we were. They may be
an Earth colony and the fire a mis-
take!”
“If yon want to ride a spaceboat,
you can surrender that,” said Steve.
“You hate anything that smacks of
war. You hate me as an officer
trained to war, I served on this ship
and, as long as you are aboard it
and she is in danger, you’ll serve
me.”
Mauchard, master of natural law
and emperor of test tubes, could
not be bettered in his realm. He
was not in his realm. Not his cour-
age but his knowledge had reached
its limit. With his honesty of pur-
pose and willfulness of ideals, Mau-
chard saw in ex-Colonel Gailbraith
nothing but menace and treachery,
the will to slay and beguile. And he
would not surrender now — to Steve.
But an answer became impossible as
the Fury’s starboard flame guns bel-
lowed into action, their searing shells
swallowed by the brilliance of Pro-
cyon far behind them.
The Fury rolled with the broad-
sides and creaked in every plate
un
from their incessant hammering, for
.she was heing driven sideways and
forward from New Terre.
Quarter only in the light, the
planet dwindled in size until Steve’s
practiced eye estimated her to be
seventy thousand miles.
“Cease firing,” he called into the
phone.
Lessening her lurches, the Fury
settled to the keel set of her gyros.
Steve slid down the long ladders
from her obseiu^ation turret and
sought out the first gun manned.
The young Son of Science there
was dripping with the sweat of firing
heat .
“What’s your name.?” said Steve.
“Baldrin.”
“Baldrin, eh? Knew a good offi-
cer by that name once. Baldrin,
consider us a vessel in distress,
d'here are about thirty kinds of high
explosive energy aboard this ship. I
want to know how you would go
about making a long streak of fire
which will travel through the sky,
bright enough to be plainly visible
for a hundred thousand miles against
a black field of space, which will
burn for four hours.”
“Distress? You mean you think
they’ll come out and rescue us in-
stead of blasting us when we go
near?”
“That’s it,” said Steve. “That’s
it exactly. The code of space. I
want about fifty of these streaks
and I want them within the next
thirty minutes. You!”^ — he mo-
tioned to a petty officer of the old
crew at the next gun gallery who
had crossed flames on his dirty sleeve
— “you know the magazines and
what they contain. Show Baldrin
what he wants and have some of
your men pack it. I suppose, Bal-
drin, you’ll want somebody in space-
suits to dump it through the place
tlie tubes used to be.”
“Yes. Yes, but— ”
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“You’ll think of something, T’m
sure.”
“But Professor Mauctiard says
that we must surrender because we
can’t maneuver to fight — ”
“Well?”
“Oh. Certainly. I see. Tliis is
a suiTender in a way.”
“Now, let’s get busy.”
CCT • >3
1 can mix —
“Just mix it,” said Steve.
Back in tfie observation turret,
Steve watched New Terre. Only a
thin slice of its lighted side remained
and that was slowly vanishing. Be-
yond it spun Procyon. The reflect-
ing power of the Fury’s hull was at
a minimum for it had been set for
yellow-white probably for months.
Only a lucky detector could spot
them at this distance.
In twenty-nine minutes by the ob-
servation turret clock the phone
whirred. He saw Baldrin's grimy
but eager face in the screen . “I
mixed — ”
“Good. Is it ready?”
“All ready.”
“Fine. Knew you could. Now,
can you put a delayed igniter in each
sack? A small time cartridge out of
a flame grenade is good enough. Set
it for two hours and dump out the
bags at one minute intervals.”
Mystified, Baldrin started to
question and then shrugged. He did
not know the laws of space concern-
ing distress.
“When I give you the word,” said
Steve, “begin to unload.”
Steve switched to the main gun
turrets. The face of a stolid range
gunner appeared in profile. “You.”
WTen the gunner faced the ])anel,
.Steve said, “pass the word along to
fire dark shells at a target dead
ahead in our plane.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said the range
pointer with the air of one who cares
not whom he serves, having con-
fusedly served so many.
Through his phone, Steve heard
THE MUTINEERS
MS
the word being passed. The dark
shells had not much range or force
but they were enough, for now the
Fury was traveling at a slow speed.
The first barrage, port and star-
board, made the Fury jerk and buck.
After that the ragged firing gave her
no definite jolts.
“Cease firing,” barked Steve into
the phone.
He had gauged it nicely, for now
the Fury was barely moving in rela-
tion to New Terre. At this rate it
would take them a day or more to
go around the planet at this distance.
“Can I start now?” said Baldrin,
helmeted now for space and speak-
ing by magnetic connection.
“Let them go,” said Steve.
Looking aft and down the curved
back of the Fury, Steve saw the first
bag dumped. It expanded and spun
away like a toy balloon which sud-
denly has its air released. After it
went the other bags until, an hour
later, all fifty of them had been un-
loaded.
Steve went below and met Baldrin
coming through the ship, thanking
him.
“Now, let’s go forward and see
Mauchard,” said Steve. “Blacker,
would you go along?”
The three oddly assorted men
worked their way toward the bridge.
Baldrin, still in the wool under-
jumper and pants of a spacesuit, too
young to be easily wearied; Dave
Blacker, stump of a cigar in his bull-
dog jowl, swathed by a tattered,
loudly checked topcoat; Steve gaunt-
eyed and strained, his slenderly aris-
tocratic body engulfed in the Royal-
ist spacecape, his pajama jacket
girded about by a seargun belt, bare-
footed, jaw-line hazy with the stub-
ble of a blond beard.
Mauchard let them in through the
air lock when he saw they were only
three and flourishing no weapons.
Mauchard was defiant, standing
back against the maze of calculators
which covered the bulkhead with
oblong number slits. He waited
for the three to speak, the while gaz-
ing coldly at the suddenly discon-
certed Baldrin.
Steve sank down in the naviga-
tor’s scuffed chair. He saw a bottle
sticking its neck out of Blacker’s
pocket and took it out, offering
Blacker a drink, unaware of the hu-
mor of it in his weariness. Blacker
glowered a refusal and Steve drank.
Mauchard reached a point of
strain where he had to speak. He
singled Baldrin. “So you’ve gone
over to them, have you?”
“He’s gone nowhere save where
you took him,” said Steve, “wherever
that might be.”
“And I suppose that you are go-
ing to take us away from here,” said
Mauchard.
“Not without rockets,” said Steve.
“What do you propose to do?”
said Mauchard.
“Kill you as soon as we have time
to do it properly,” said Steve. “Your
morphogene trick—” he choked a
little and his face was pale. “Get
off the bridge, Mauchard. Get off
the bridge!”
“Them’s my orders, too,” said
Blacker. “And I got two hunnert
tough guys to back it up. Blow,
brother.”
“Not until I understand what you
mean to do!”
Steve looked at Mauchard and
Mauchard took two paces backward
coming up against the bulkhead.
He stood there for a moment and
then, signaling his men to follow
him, went into the air lock.
Steve got tip and pushed young
Baldrin into the communications
With studied coldness, Gailbraith gave his demands to the
giant, while Eery trails arched across the vault of sky above.
cubicle. “Do you know anything
about contacting another ship.?”
“Well— yes.”
“Then start trying to make such a
contact on that spaceophone. Use a
linguaresolver because those people
or whatever on New Terre, don’t
speak our language.”
Steve went out into the bridge.
He threw the switches of the firing
command board. “Stand by with
dark shells. Guns one and tvi'o port
fire on ninety degrees our plane.”
The Fury slewed under the recoil
and slowly swung her nose toward
New Teire.
14 ?
“One and two cease firing. Atten-
tion all batteries. Dark shells. Tar-
get dead astern. Fire at will.”
The Ftt/ry j^icked up speed toward
New Terre and the planet’s gravity
began to aid in pulling her down.
“Cease firing.”
At a thousand miles a minute, the
Fury plunged toward New Terre.
The chronometer on Steve’s right
ticked off half an hour.
“Dark shells,” said Steve. “Bange
minimum. Target dead ahead our
plane. Fire at will.”
Jolting unsteadily, the Fury be-
gan to slow down. Two spheres
darted out of the low-lying atmos-
phere ahead and at wide distance on
either side swooped up to parallel
the battleship at a distance of three
hundred miles.
“Contact,” said Baldrin in the
communications cubicle.
“Cease firing,” said Steve into the
master gun control phone. He went
into the small room with Baldrin.
“We’re commanded to halt by two
-ships.”
“I saw them in the magneti-
gra|)h,” said Steve.
“Are . . . a.re we going to try to
fight it out on the dark side of New
Terre.^” said Baldrin with the usual
abhorrence of crashing in the black-
ness, blind.
“Have you their return wave.?”
said Steve.
Baldrin threw in the switch.
“Ahoy the cruisers,” said Steve,
speaking through the linguaresolver
which converted his words into uni-
versal electrospeech.
“Halt!” spoke the phone. “Ap-
proach nearer to Absolo and you will
be engaged in battle!”
“We wish no battle,” said Steve to
the invisible commander. “Allow us
to land, for we are disabled and we
will explain our mission. We can-
not inaneuver to fight, as you should
AST— 10
He was an amazing incjivicJual, The
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and yet . . .
Doc Savage wondered. Even he could
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JOc A COPY AT ALL HEWSSTANDS
a hoax?
Or could he really
foretell the future?
148
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
be able to see. It is doubtful if we
can handle our landing. Can you
contact us and get us down.”
There was a swift interchange^ be-
tween the two commanders of the
space craft and a rapid contact with
their base. In a short time the per-
mission was granted.
Tvs'^nty minutes later the Fury,
which had been through so many
strange experiences, was experienc-
ing the end of another. Two sphe-
roids had grappled her and now she
was being eased down into a circu-
lar field in the blaze of landing
lights. A swarm of beings surged
out from the curved buildings and
gazed open-mouthed at the battle-
ship, pointing out huge tears in her
bow and tail where their shells had
done so much damage.
They were Mirionites, about four
times the height of an Earthman.
Steve had seen two of them in the
.triumphal parade of General Tars
Golden after his return from the fa-
mous Orion campaign. He had been
awed then by the furry, stilt-legged
things, with their enormous ears and
mouths and their tiny double eyes.
They had had trouble walking on
Earth because its gravity was greater
tha.n anything to which they were
accustomed and they were having
just that trouble on New Terre, or
Absolo, as they called it, all of them
carrying .metal canes which were at
once support and probably rapid-
firing weapons.
A guard of soldiers, naked except
for the metal cartridge bands worn
on each bicep, assembled in brisk
order as the landing ladder of the
Fury dropped, down.
Steve drew the cloak about him
and stepped to the ground. The
tov/ering Mirionites looked wonder-
ingly at him as a child might regard
an animated doll.
“Baldrin!” said Steve. “Hand
down an instrument.”
With the linguaresolver he tried
to make the officer in command un-
derstand him but the fello?/ shook
his head, got down on his knees and
hands and looked closely at Steve’s
face. Then he saw the linguaresolver
and called for one of his own.
Crouched there he made signs that
he was ready to listen through his
instrument.
“Take me to your chief,” said
Steve.,
“I cannot,” said the Mirionite.
“I have orders to arrest you. Why
do you come down this way? We
are at war with the Terrestrial Em-
pire. We have destroyed its colony
here. You are also to be destroyed.”
“Destroy me and destroy your-
selves,” said Steve. “Take me
swiftly to your chief.”
“The governor is asleep.”
“Then I shall awaken him,” said
Steve, and stalked down the ranks of
knees in the dii’ection where a glow
.showed against the clear sky.
“Wait,” said the Mirionite. “I
have orders for all Earthmen. I
am — ”
“I am an envoy. My person is
inviolate. Toucli me again and you
will destroy Absolo.”
“What is your business?”.
“My business is with your gov-
ernor, not with his lackey!”
“Envoy? From the Terrestrial
Empire?”
“Certainly.”
“If you lie to me, then you shall
be killed with flourishes. Do not
tamper with the law of the Mirion-
ite. Earthmen are to be killed.”
“Take me to the governor!” said
Steve.
149
The Mirionite piislied himself
erect with his twelve-foot cane-gun
and gave the order to lead off. For
a little while Steve struggled to keep
in the file, but the ground was rough
and the soldiers marched swiftly.
The captain at last shrugged and
picked Steve up, holding him gin-
gerly in the crook of his arm like
one might carry a child who never
has before.
The city was a series of smooth
glass bubbles in the center of a
ninety-foot glass wall. Solar stor-
ages gave off a glare of light. Nei-
ther shrub nor blade grew in this
place, foi' the streets ran all about
the homes and were soft as cloth
with some dark fabric of chemical
weave. Bars of light acted as fences,
gates and doors, pulsating screens
which dripped rolling sparks.
The business district was in si-
lence, the marts labeled only by
three-dimensional-color projections
of goods on the areas before the en-
trances. A little farther along, fe-
male Mirionites and offspring peered
frightenedly at the column which
moved along the curving streets, un-
til Steve was perceived and then a
ripple of wondering and amused
laughter followed.
Great sheets of scarlet flame
crackled warningly before the com-
pact group of hemispheres which
marked the government place, zip-
ping back and forth from either side
of a circular series of posts which
surrounded the place. The column
paused on the heat-exuding edge of
the live baiTier, while the captain
exchanged courtesy with the officer
of the guard within. A space ceased
to arc and the group moved through.
The guard officer struck an invisibly
: suspended glass ball, which lighted
and upon its lighting, caused a long
series of such balls to bob and glow
from the gateway on into the build-
ings. A sound of snapping within
the hall of the first building ceased
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and, by the jumping lights, soldier?
stood up and craned to view what-
ever might be coming.
The captain who had carried
Steve, had begun some distance back
to show the effect.s of the effort,
though he attempted to jnask his
heavy breatliing. With the excuse
of entering their destination, he set
Steve down into the . forest of stilt
legs and flexed his aching arm. Steve
was glad enough of it, for the cap-
tain smelled like a wu)lf’s lair, un-
cleaned since the birth of the first
wolf in evolution’s chain. This pal-
ace smelled little better, but the
acridity of brimstone took the sick
sweet edge off the stench. Seeing
the “tiny” being, some of the palace
guards tittered.
The files halted and the captain
glanced at the officer of the guard
who had accompanied them. The
latter went forward and a bright
sheet of blue fire, which had been
dancing before a circular door,
ceased. The officer went in and a
moment later petidant sounds came
out. The argument was short and
the guard officer stepped into the
hallway to motion the files into the
room.
It was very difficult for Steve to
see anything, for the round furni-
ture blocked his vision and the bed’s
base was too high for him to see
anything of the governor but a pair
of flattened ears.
Through the captain’s lingua, re-
solver and through his own, Steve
heard the governor say, “Well?
Well? Dromo, you know your duty.
You know your regulations. Yon
have heard my posted orders and
the orders of the Multicouncil itself.
And yet you wake me. You wake
me! Before morning, too! If you
cannot carry out orders, I shall Iiave
to put another Jn your rank! Now!
Under the heading of Terrestrial
Empire, what does the ordervoice
THE MUTINEERS
151
state? Quickly, now. What does it
state?”
The unhappy captain screwed up
his four glittery eyes, hunched his
shoulders and let his ears droop.
“The Terrestrial Empire Border
must be maintained. Five scout
cruisers — ”
“No, no, no!” said the whiningly
grieved governor. “Now you are
trying my patience. What does it
say with regard to Terrestrial
People? Be explicit!”
“ ‘All People invading the domain
of the Mirionite Multicouncil shall
be drained of technical information
and executed, to discourage explora-
tion of the Multicouncil which does
not desire war,’ ” parroted the miser-
able captain.
“There! There, you see? Was
there any need of waking me just
when I needed my sleep most? Give
him to the Library Technicians and
then to the Servant of Death. And
go out of here and let me get my
rest!”
“One moment,” said Steve.
“What was that?” said the gov-
ernor, lifting himself up and peering
around.
“It was I, Emissary of the
Mighty.”
The governor took hold of the
edge of the bed and put his face over
the side to peer near-sightedly at
Steve.
“Hmph,” said the governor. “I
had forgotten how insignificant
People were.”
Steve rummaged inside the mili-
tary cape and found a sheet of paper
he had scooped off the communica-
tions desk. It was a list of space-
wave stations.
Shoving it up at the governor,
Steve said, “I bring you a message.
My space landing boat was shot up
by your ignorant gunners when first
I tried to land. I am not a little
angry with the Tmpudence of your
treatment of me. Please mend your
manners and come to business.”
The governor took the paper and
squinted at it uncomfortably. As a
learned Mirionite and as a governor,
he felt that it should be in his power
to read it, or at least that his officers
a,nd men would think it should be.
“Space lifeboat?” said the gov-
ernor suddenly, registering Steve’s
remark. He reached up to the head
of his bed and pushed a button
which dropped a screen. He twirled
a knob and the landing field came in
focus. He stared at the Fury, loom-
ing above the Mirionite spheroids.
“Space lifeboat?”
“I want no trouble with you,” said
Steve. “As you can see in that com-
munication, I am an Emissary of
... of The Comet, Spacemaster.”
He glanced impatiently at his watch.
“His Mightiness, The Comet, will be-
come impatient before long. He said
that I should contact him concern-
ing the acceptance of this mandate
within three hours, and the time is
neai'ly up. He does not trifle. If
I do not report, he will know I have
been killed and so set about the de-
struction of Absolo.”
“Destruct — The Comet? I have
never heard of this. IVhat do you
mean, destroy Absolo?”
“Just that. The Comet levies
tribute on Absolo. The amount of
that tribute is to be set by me. I
am to stay here with my party until
such time as he comes again. The
Comet is the greatest space baron
of all time and his fleet is of a. size
to engage and defeat the combined
fleets of the Terrestrial Empire itself.
If you want war, then you may have
war.”
In stunned silence, the governor
gripped the bed, the wave-length list
im
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
and stared at the “tiny” being who
looked so ferociously at him. Then
the governor relaxed. “I have seen
nothing of such a fleet! You trifle
with me!”
Steve did not look up. He pointed
up.
The governor looked at the ceil-
ing and a guard hastily threw a
switch which removed the opacity of
the dome. The strange constella-
tions sparkled against the black
night above. And more.
The governor gave a gurgling
gasp.
Steve did not look up. He stood ■
there, pointing confidently. And ’
high against the zenith were the
streaks of pale flame which would
indicate a rocket fleet standing by.
“One, two, three — ” counted the
guard officer.
“I can count!” said the governor
irritably. He punched a button and
a strained Mirionite face came into
the screen. “Radso! Why did you
not warn me — ”
“The governor’s sleep — ” quav-
ered the face.
“Sleep! You would allow me to
sleep with death over my head?
How far away are those ships?”
“Our ranges indicate seventy
thousand miles. Are . . . are you
going to order us to f-f-fire? We
only reach two thousand and we
have just five scout cruisers on all
Absolo, and it is nineteen days to
our nearest b-b-base. And there are
only seven cruisers there — ”
“Arc me dead,” shuddered the
governor, staring up through the
dome from his bed. “Seventy thou-
sand miles and they leave tails like
that? Sir Emissary, you say you
must report back and that it is
nearly time?”
“Am I to report that you wish to
be friends with The Comet, Master
of All Space, and that you guarantee
the safety of his tribute commis-
sion?”
“Yes! Yes, certainly! S-seventy
thousand miles and tails like that!
A space lifeboat. Dromo, escort the
Emissary back to his . . . his space
lifeboat. Tell him and his friends he
is welcome here. When” — and his
eyes had a suddenly crafty gleam — ■
“will he be back?”
“The day I do not send him a full
report of our activities.”
“Dromo! Dromo, give Sir Emis-
sary a larger guard. Don’t . . .
don’t let anybody step on him!”
“Thank you, governor,” said
Steve, taking back the message from
the trembling hand. Dromo drew
up stiffly and Steve walked nobly
past the protruding knees.
Some time later, aboard the Fury,
when the Mirionites had finished
squeezing through passages and the
“space fleet” had “gone away,” a
haggard but grim Steve entered the
cabin of Jean Mauchard.
“I suppose I owe you a deep debt
for saving me from my folly,” said
Mauchard in a low voice.
“You owe me more than a debt,”
said Steve. “I have saved this ship,
perhaps, but I have not saved you.”
Mauchard started up from a chair.
“You mean you hold the mutiny
against me still? What else could I
do—”
“To Ares with your mutiny, Mau-
chard. Down this corridor is the
one who paid for your stupidity.”
Steve’s hands were shaking, but
his face was calm. Nerve and hatred
were carrying him to an impossible
limit of strength. He took out his
seargun and cocked in a new charge.
“This is 'cold-blooded murder, Mau-
chard. I’m not above that now.
I’ve sagged six runs below bottom
\
already. Not even your deatli can
bring me any lower.”
“What . . . what have I done?
Who . . . who has paid?” For
Mauchard could not have gone
through the revolt without recog-
nizing imminent death when he saw
it in a man’s eyes.
“Vicky Stalton died from the ef-
fects of your morphogene, Mau-
chard.”
“Died? No! That’s not possible!
Colonel, listen to me. This is no
bluff. It couldn’t happen! Listen
to me!”
“I’ve gone through the past many
hours knowing what would happen
to you, Mauchard. Squirm out of
it if you can. I played this farce
through, yes. But not to save you.”
“Colonel, listen to me. You’ve
got to let me look at her. That’s all
I ask. Just let me look at her and,
if she died from the morphogene,
then I know I must pay for it. But
you can’t condemn me until you let
me see.”
“All right,” said Steve wearily.
“Go look at her. Maybe it’s more
to the point to kill you there.”
Mauchard went swiftly to a locker
and pulled down a small flexoid case
and then hurried on before Steve to
Vicky’s cabin.
She lay where Steve had left her,
face covered, pale fingers showing.
Steve stood in the doorway, seargun
in hand, while Mauchard pulled
back the cloth from her face.
But Mauchard did not seem to
be interested . in discovering life in
her. Instead, he snapped open the
case he had brought and took out a
long needle to which he attached, a
tube. He nearly startled Steve into
firing when he plunged that needle
into Vicky’s heart and depressed the
plunger in the tube.
“Oldest scientific discovery in the
book,” grumbled Mauchard to him-
self. And then to Steve, “Morpho-
gene is one of the gases used to
1 /"
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154
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bring about suspended animation.
Some people are allergic to it. She’ll
come around in a few moments.”
Steve looked from Mauchard to
Vicky and then stood staring at the
girl like one who has just come out
of a horrible nightmare to the secur-
ity of an understood room.
Vicky stirred a little and rubbed
sleepily at her eyes, yawning. She
felt her fingers crushed and glanced
up.
“Oh. Hullo, Steve.” And then,
seeing how pale he was, “What’s the
matter.?* Gosh, Steve, are you .seeing’
a ghost or something.?*”
“No, Vicky,” said Steve with a
sob. The seargun clattered to the
floor at his feet. “Thank God,
Vicky. No!”
THE END.
TWO PLUS TWO EQUALS 100
Counting by twqs is normally
somewhat of an unnecessary compli-
cation, but some primitive tribes,
and some advanced scientists find it
useful. Their method, however,
runs to a straight binomial number
system. That is, “one” is written,
say, as 7. Two becomes — 10 . Three,
of course, is two plus one or 11 . And
four, which is two ( 10 ) times two
( 10 ) equals 100 . The numbers up
to ten continue, in turn, as five =
101 , six = 110 , seven = 111 , eight
= 1000 , nine = 1001 and ten
= 1010 .
Why would any modern scientist
want to use so cumbersome a method
of calculation.?* It conies in very
handy in a special application; elec-
trical calculating machines find it
ideally adapted to the simplest of
electromagnetic devices — the relay.
TKe simplest type of relay has two
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165
eflss TflCiis
Ten best
Dear Mr. Campbell:
Beader’.s report on Astounding for 1940:
I. Best covers:
1. January — Schneeman.
%. April — Rogers.
3. August — Rogers.
4. September — Rogers.
II. Ten best stories:
1. “Final Blackout,” by L. Ron Hubbard.
It’s a classic. Nothing of tke same
type will ever surpass it.
5. “Sian!”, by A. E. van Vogt. I had
great hopes for this story. It didn’t
live up to them. Surprise ending, all
right, though.
5. “Requiem,” by Robert Heinlein.
4. “Fog,” by Robert Willey.
6. “The Stars Look Down,” by Lester
Del Rey.
6. “Vault of the Beast,” by A. E. van
Vogt.
7. “Hindsight,” by Jack Willia-mson.
8. “The Profes,sor Was A Thief,” by
L. Ron Hubbard.
9. “The Emancipated,” by L. Sprague de
Camp.
10. “And Then There Was One,” by Ross
Mocklynne.
III. There is no list of best illustrations.
There were none. However, Schneeman’s
improved now that hi.s old style is back.
It is one hundred percent neater, and I
can find no lack of dramatic force.
But I can never count an issue perfect
unless there is an illustration by Wcsso
in it. How’s chances for a whole issue il-
lustrated solely by Wesso and Schnee-
man?
IV. Best all-around issue: December.
Good luck in 1941. — Daniel King, Crag-
mor, Colorado Springs, Colorado.
The perfect rating method is yet to be
devised. For one thing, how many
readers does one letter represent?
Some group-types tend to write in
more than others.
ANALYTICAL LABORATORY;
DEC. 1940
1. van Vogt, A, E.— “Sian!”
Good story.
S. Richardson, R. S. — “Wanted; Sugges-
tions.”
Now that you’ve a method of evaluating
rankings submitted by less than all cor-
respondents, guess it’s O. K. to rank ar-
ticles in with stories now. Next to
“Sian!”, I enjoyed this particular article
most.
156
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
S. Miller, P. Schuyler — “Old Man Mulli-
gan.”
4 . Willey, Robert — “Fog.”
5. Edwards, D. M. — “Spheres.”
6. Bond, Nelson — “Legacy.”
A comment on your rating calculation
method: (An admitted impertinence, but
correspondents to magazines seem to go in
for impertinence.)
For that part of your contents ranked
somewhere by everybody, the method
seems entirely adequate for the purpose to
be .served. That is, I’d trust the novelettes
and short stories to be correctly placed,
relative to each other.
Occurs to me you may run into trouble
if you use the method, unmodified, on data
for which you have only fractional re-
turns.
For instance, thirty-eight rank an unfin-
ished serial, thirty-four putting it first, four
second, zero less than that. Average: away
up.
You average the largest number of re-
turns for finished stories. One of these
ranking third or fourth has actually re-
ceived more than the thirty-four “first"
votes which put your serial up near the top.
Conceivably, another might average out to
an apparent tie — based on many very high
ratings by people who did not rank your
unfinished serial one way or the other. That
is, the statistical figure arrived at by the
method would look identical. The difference
i.s that this was computed from complete re-
turns, the other from fractional (since the
thirty-eighth ranking the serial ranked this
story, too — but not vice versa) .
What would you do then? Take the
figure’s word for it and mark it straight
tie? What would you do in the other case
- — mark it third or fourth, disregarding the
gross figures which show as high an inci-
dence of top votes for that one, as for the
serial? Or would you just go home with a
headache?
Not that I really doubt that you have
something up your sleeve to take care of
just that contingency. The trouble, I im-
agine, is that “weights,” the statistical an-
swer, don’t lend themselves to exposition
in a short paragraph. Thank you for let-
ting us in on the uncomplicated pa.rt,
though. I’ve often idly wondered about the
method employed — having played with and
cussed statistics on occasion myself. —
Verniaud.
Sequels, to be satisfying, must be better
tbsin the originals.. I don’t know
whether “Sian” should have a sequel
or not.
Dear Mr. Campbell:
Science-fiction enthusiasts in the Twin
Cities would like to announce the formation
of an informal indejrendent organization to
be known as the Minneapolis Fantasy So-
ciety.
Monthly meetings are being held at the
home of its director, Clifford D. Sirnak.
Other prominent members include, Carl
Jacobi, Oliver E. Saari, Charles Jarvis and
Phil Bronson.
Fans in the immediate area who are in-
terested are urged to contact the secretary
at the following address. — John L. Chap-
man, Sec., 1531 Como Ave. S. E., Minne-
apolis, Minn.
Twin Cities fans.
Dear Ed:
I have never written a letter to any
magazine, but that last issue of Astounding
made me come out of the cave.
Unquestioningly, “Sian” merits the Nova
designation.
Without a doubt, undoubtedly, indubi-
tably, “Sian” must have, needs, urgently
requires a sequel, and that soon.
The last part of “Sian” left me breath-
less and I have already read it four times.
The more I read it, the better it looks; not
just the last part, the whole story.
How is the sequel to “Gray Lensman”
coming along? Is it nearly finished? I
hope you will print it soon.
I Icnow that Astounding is tops in its
field and I sincerely hope you will keep it
there. — Frank Matanzo, Box 66, Saa
German, P. R.
Harry Bates has another yarn coming up.
Dear Mr. Campbell:
Here are my favorite ten Astounding
tales of the year. Not in order of prefer-
ence, of course.
1. “Sian.” Undoubtedly. After a thor-
ough reading and general mulling over, I
mihst confess that I can’t be quite as ful-
some as some of the Brass Tackers, but I
do agree with your high opinion of it, and
further agree that it’s a classic. Still — the
157
first three instaJlments had me on the edge
of the chair, literally. The final chapters
seemed to wane. Frankly, I must admit
that I cannot state precisely why; all I
know is tliat it didn’t hit me right. There
just wasn’t tlie sustained fervor about it.
it did tie up all loose ends; it offered a sat-
isfactory explanation. But something was
missing. It was as if Van Vogt had sud-
denly lost the meter of it and was limping
along, valiantly, trying to regain it. The
only comparison I can offer is that of hear-
ing Toscanini conduct Ravel’s “Bolero.” It
strurts off well enough, but along toward the
middle you feel that the maestro’s heart
really i.sn’t in it; you get a feeling of rcr
■straint and general frustration; where the
rhythm and melody are supposed to be ex-
panding, rising, the drumbeats actually pal-
pitating, you feel a hiatus. And finally the
whole effect is one of straining at a leash;
one feels that the whole orchestra is
being muzzled just when they should be
given full sway; because of the increasing
.sway of it, you are far ahead of the or-
chestra, beating it out yourself, grinding
your teeth as you wait for the players to
catch up. But they never do. The piece
comes to an end and you are left stranded,
unfulfilled. That is an exaggerated com-
parison, but it is the only way I can de-
cribe my reactions to the last installment
of “Sian”; perhaps you can tell me why; I
can’t.
On the credit side, Van Vogt has done
admirably what few stf writers with a
mutant or nova story have been able to do:
portray a future environment without merely
placing today’s people, their ideas, senses
of value, and reactions into the next cen-
tury, or whenever it is. Of course, a full
realization of this is impossible, but Van
Vogt succeeds to a very large degree.
One thing more comes to me: that is,
to my taste, Kathleen was overemphasized,
while Joanna Hillory, a much more real
diaracter, who should have been the heroine
— damn that stupid term! — was left out in
the cold. Yet, to have done so, one sup-
poses, would have been, in effect, to have
abandoned the necessary approach to the
superman — another abused term — tale
which alone made “Sian” a classic. Enough
of this: I read the story and delighted;
let it go at that.
2. “Coventry.” One is constrained to
wonder wliy, under such a type of society
that Hcinlein ])resents, there would be such
misfits as our hero. Why, for example, with
the entire complex, educational and other-
wise, wliich alone could make such a
social-moral — Chase ho! These tyrannous
-words! — .set-up possible, that people would
be frustrated to the point of rebellion. Anti-
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I social acts, no matter liow slight, are re-
bellion against the society in ■which one
lives; the world outside of Coventry realized
that tliis was the crux of the. matter and
that the degree of outburst nieauit little.
But, again, a thoroughly enjoyable tale;
one w'hioh made me engage in what I like
to call thinking.
3 . “It This Goes On.” Heinlein’s real.
To say any more would be slobbering.
4. '“Vault of the Beast.” A formula tale
which makes you forget the fact that it
is so.
5. “Crisis in Utopia.” This did not quite
live up to advance exjrectations, yet is
memorable none the less. I’m purposely re-
fraining from looking through my copies.
6. “Final Blackout.” As I mentioned
above, these are not in order of preference.
As a piece of literature, I’d normally rank
it next to “Sian.” Yet — is it really science-
fiction? I’m not answering that question,
merely asking it. Is a story which can
have no more claim to being stf than hav-
ing its occurrences take place in tlie future
to be called that? It hasn’t liapjjened yet.
But that is all. Fine characterization and,
though I (disagree heartily with Hubbard’s
conception of history and politics — as evi-
denced by this tale — still it’s one to be
reread, even after tlie course of events has
made many of its episodes rather ridiculous.
7. “Farewell to the Alaster.” I wish one
saw Bates more often — up to this standard,
of course.
8. “Homo Sol.” Very neatly done; I
think Edna St. Vincent Millay once re-
marked that a jjerson who has not been
bludgeoned into profound ailmiration and
delirious enjoyment at some item from the
pen of one who, up to now, has been
thought of as the most sickening writer on
the face of the earth, just hasn’t lived.
While my opinions of Asimov’s earlier writ-
ings hasn’t been as low as that, still the
analogy is usable. Swelegant!
9. “Roads Must Roll.” Psychological
tales are my meat; Heinlein again!
10. “The Exalted.” Exactly!
On the other liand, some of the duds, for
my two dimes, were: “The Idealist”
stories, “Spheres,” “Fog,” “Deputy Corre-
spondent,” “The Carbon Erate,” “Runaway
Cargo,” “Space Guards,” and “In the Day
of the Gold.” Otlrers which might not
have clicked with your humble and obedient
servant just didn’t displease enougli to be
rememorable.
Art work? Covers liave been nifty, ex-
cept for the January, 1940; same interiors.
Sorry, but I don’t like most of Scheeman’s
1 stuff these days. Not imaginative. In the
BRASS TACKS AND SCIENCE DISCUSSIONS
153
line of drawings for “Eed Death of Mars,”
“Old Man Mulligan”: yes. In the line of
drawing.? for “Blowup,? Happen,” “Slan”^ —
most of them — and “Final Blackout” — ef-
fective as some of them were! — no. R. Isip
is delightful; Kramer the oppo.site. Orban
usually O. K. As if all thi.s mass of opinion
on the part of a single reader mattered!
Finally, as one-time official connected
therewith, let me thank you publicly for
your kindness and co-operation in donating
originals to the Chicago Stf Convention of
1940, and for aiding same by adverti.sing in
the official program booklet. We missed
you there; I’d hoped to see you and Doc
Smith exchange diverse comment as of yore
— remember the days of your glorious feud
over the alleged — who did win those bat-
tles? — chemical vagaries in “Skylark of
Space”?
Thus, with general feelings of appreciation
and good will to the editor — and apologies
to Brass Tacks readers for abundant use of
the first person singular, sincerely — Robert
W. Lowndes, 189 West 103rd Sti'eet, New
York, N. Y.
Got it early? No reason I know of.
You're just lucky.
Dear Mr. Campbell:
Carl Anderson can go to, as Shakespeare
saith. I think that Astoundkig has come
a damn sight farther in 1940 than in 1939,
and none of it was backwards. Further-
more. the February issue of Astounding has
everything in 1940 beat all hollow, except-
ing, of course, “Sian,” “Final Blackout,”
a.nd “Gray Lensman.” And I haven’t read
“Ma.gic City” yet, nor have I finished
“Completely Automatic.” “Sixth Column”
i.s another one of those yarns that gets
betlei' — very much better — as it goes along.
About Odorated Talking Pictures: The
gadget is electrical in nature and acts on
the schnozzle nerves. The inventors have
been working on OTP intermittently for
about eight years, after one of them stum-
bled on the secret in a lab accident. Tire
gadget has to be electrical, because it would
have to be cut on and off quickly when
changing scenes, and there is no scene “fad-
ing,” with regard to smells. If it were
chemical in nature, rather unpleasant by-
products might be created, and any oxides,
et cetera, that were created would fall, like
snow, rain, or maybe hail, on the audience.
And, a hit of HjS might turn up while
shifting from one odor to another? I hope
that when OTP goes into commercial’ pro-
duction, someone will have the common
sense to run a smell commen.surate with the
quality of the picture during the introduc-
tion! Sample: Chanel No. 5 — or Berhelot’s
Doux Reves — for a 4-star, something more
bourgeois for a 8-star, a rather neutral smell
for a 3-star, H 2 S for a 1-star, and eau de
polecat for a 0-star film.
Why is it that I w^as able to get the Feb-
ruary Astounding on January 9, a week’
earlier than it’s scheduled for irational dis-
tribution? That’s the second time such a
thing has happened to me, and it has me
wondering.— Charles J. Fern, Jr., Atherton.
House, University of Hawaii, Honolulu, Ha-
waii.
Welt — Quintius Teal was a remarkable
man; remarkable things must be 'ex-
pected of bis efforts.
Dear Mr. Campbell:
Ratings for February Astounding —
1 . “ — And He Built a Crooked House” — A-f-
3. “The Best-laid Scheme” — A
3. “Sixth Column” — A
4. “Completely Automatic” — B-| — h
B. “Castaway” — B
6. “Trouble on Tantalus” — C
7. “Magic City” — C - -
As you predicted and as I expected,
‘Sixth Column” improved considerably; and
altogether this was a pretty good number.
But it was ruined by the novelettes, both
of which were pediculous, puerile, pedagogi-
cal productions of almost anthropoid au-
thors. Not only that but they stunk.
I’ll admit that “Magic City” wa,s at least
baffling; I couldn’t tell whether it was
meant to be thrilling, impressive, pathetic,
funny, or what. I’d say it wasn’t anything
but overdone. The other novelette was a
bit turgid, not at all realistic, and very
corny. Please do something about the long-
shorts.
Well, everything dse was good and the
Klystron article was super. Now, about
Heinlein’s little tale. As you’ll notice by
my rating, I liked it plenty. But Teal had
remarkaWe luck — though I guess it was
bad — that the house did w'hat it did. Try
cutting out of paper an unfolded cube and
laying it on the table. Then bang the table
with your fist, and 1,000 to 1 it doesn’t
jump up into a cube; although I guess if
it did it would come to rest lying on one of
its faces, as the house did in the story.
ISO
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION
Of course, all tlie geometry was theoretical,
so there’s no sense my arguing.
Let’s have more Heinleiii, the screwier the
better; more de Camp, the funnier the bet-
ter; and more van Vogt, the better the bet-
ter.^ — Chandler Davis, 309 Lake Avenue,
Newton Highlands, Massachusetts.
mmi Discussiops
So that’s how they got those Mars
photos.'
Dear Mr. Campbell;
The short article by Mr. McCann in the
February, 1941, Astounding was quite in-
teresting and is correct, as far as it goes.
However, it seemed to me that it made out
a somewhat worse case for observation than
really exists.
Take the so-called “canals” of Mars for
example. Actually, they are NOT ex-
tremely difficult to see, under the best of
conditions. Many of the more prominent
ones have been photographed many times.
It is not the existence of linear markings
which is questionable, but the nature of
those markings.
During one of our visits to Lowell Ob-
servatory, shortly after the last opposition
of Mars, we had the privilege of examining
some remarkably fine photographs of Mars
which had been made by Dr. E. C. Slipher
in South Africa. These photo.s showed the
linear markings so much more clearly than
any we had ever seen before that we
wanted to know how it was done.
The explanation was really quite simple.
Just another case of detouring around an
obstruction that could not be removed. As
Mr. McCann explained in his article, air
tremors blur the image produced by a tele-
scope. As a photograph always requires
at least a little time, the resulting image
is always more or less blurred. By using
a low magnification, the image is small
and bright, which permits a short expo.siire.
The shorter the exposure, the fewer the
wiggles. BUT, the image is .small. When
that small image is highly enlarged, the
grain ot the plate becomes painfully evi-
dent. Fine detail is lost in the fog of sil-
ver graiiuals. In order to take advantage
of the sharper images obtained by short
exposure.s, it was necessary to resort to a
trick which would reduce the effect of the
grain of the plate.
This is done by printing, not from one
negative, but from six. Two or three dozien
photographs of Mars were made in rapid
siwM^ssion on the same plate. Of all these
images perhaps half a dozen would have
been made during the intervals between
wiggles, and would be noticeably sharper
than the others. One of these sharp im-
ages would be placed in the enlai’ger, and
printed for 1/6 the time required to make
a print. Then another of the sharp im-
ages would be moved into po.sition, care-
fully adjusted to register with the first
image, and another partial exposure made.
This is repeated until all six images have
been used. The idea is that the silver
grains of one negative will not form ex-
actly the same pattern as those on another
negative. The re.sult is that any acci-
dental marking on one negative will not be
exactly repeated on another negative. On
the other hand, any marking that is ac-
tually on the planet, will be in the same
place on ALL the negatives.
When the resulting enlargement is de-
veloped, the actual markings on the planet
stand out with startling clarity, and the
effect of the grain of the plate is almost
entirely eliminated.
We compared some of the prints made
by this method, with some of Lowell’s
drawings, made many years ago, and they
match almost exactly. Illusion may, and
frequently does, enter into visual observa-
tion, but one cannot photograph illusions.
As to the nature of these markings on
Mars, that is another question. Whether
they are natural or artificial remains to be
settled, but that the markings exist is no
longer in doubt,
I have been too busy at optical work to
do any writing for sometime. Since I last
wrote you, we have built two Schmidt
cameras, one of which is now at Lowell Ob-
servatory. The other, just recently com-
pleted, is now set up at our Alpine station.
Bad weather has prevented our using it to
any extent, but we have hopes of getting
in some observing soon. — Harold A. Lower,
1032 Pennsylvania Ave., San Diego, Cali-
fornia.
So they’ve already developed a meteor
detector!
Dear Mr. Campbell:
From the results the R. A. F. have been
obtaining with their electrical enemy-air-
plane detectors, it looks as though .space-
I6i
"ships, when, as and if, won’t have to worry
about developing nieteor-iletecting devices.
The Nazi.? were outstandingly successful
in practicing their theory that the best way
to fight an enemy air force was to catch it
on the ground a.nd bomb it — until they
tackled England. In Poland and France,
what air force the oppo.sition had was al-
most entirely destroyed befoi-e it could get
into effective fighting po.sition by .surpri.se
bombing raids that caught them with their
pants down — “pants” being the term for
those streamline housings put on retract-
able landing wheels.
In England, however, it was no dice.
Every time the bombers arrived they were
met by a highly active air force very much
in the air, and not at all bombable. The
Nazi force, having run heavily to bombers
and not so much to fighter planes on the
basis of the catoh-’eni-on-the-groimd theory,
was rendered unhappy.
A radio-electi-ical widget seems to have
been .largely respon.sible. It was quite
capable of detecting the approach of enemy
bombers while they were .still some fifty
mile.s deep in France, on the other side of
the Channel. It detected them and, fur-
thermore, plotted their course, approximate
numlrer, and speed of approach. Opposition
could, then, be gotten into the air, put on
their route to intercept them, and sent in
appropriate numbers before the raiders ar-
rived. And that ended daylight bombing.
Night bombing remained possible becau,se
night fighting remained impossible.
Basically, the detector .seems to consist of
, an ultrashort-wave transmitter and a series
of receivers. I’hey work on about the wave
length used by television sets. The radio
waves are so short that they can “illumi-
nate” the enemy planes. A situation curi-
ously parallel to that of the optical micro-
scope arises in this radio detection.
Normal broadcast waves lengths are so
great that they simply go around a plane,
unimpeded, much as long-wave light goes
around, without illuminating, very minute
MEOUHIG
Name
Address
Occupation -
Reference -
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8 ENLARGEMliNTS AND FILM DEVELOPED, IIG size or
smaller, 25c coin; enlarged prints 8c each; special offer: enclose
advertisement and negative for hand-colored enlargement free with
order 25c or more. Enlarge Photo, Box 791, Dept. SS, Boston,
itlass. .
ROLL DEVELOPED 16 prints, or 8 prints 2 enlargements, or
8 - 4x6 enlargements 25e. Credit for unprintable negatives. Re-
prints 2c. 100 — fl.OO. Include this ad for free surprise.
Peerless Studio. Great Northern Bldg.. Chicago.
Old Money Wanted
OLD MONET WANTED. Will pay *100.00 for 1801 Dlmo.
S Mint., too. 00 for 191S Liberty Head Nickel (not Euffalo). Bis
premiums paid for all rare coins. Send 4c for Large Coin Folder.
May mean much profit to you. B. Max Mehl, 440 Melil Bldg., Fort
Worth. Texas.
Detectives — Instructions
DETECTIVES EARN BIG MONEY. WORK HOME. TRAVEL.
DETECTIVE particulars free. Experience unnecessary. Writ*
GEORGE WAGONER, 3640-A Broadway, New York.
Correspondence Courses
CORRESPONDENCE courses and educational books, slightly
used. Sold. Rented. Exchanged. All subjecls. Satisfaction guar-
anteed. Cash paid for used courses. Complete details and bargain
Catalog Free. Write Nelson Company, 500 Sberman, Dept. D-215,
Chicago.
Help Wanted — Instructions
NEW OPPORTUNITIES FOR AA’OMEN. No canvassing.
Inve.stment. Earn up to -123 weekly and your own dresses Free,
Write fully giving age, dress size. Fashion Frocks, Dept. DD-1023,
Cinrintiitti, O.
■SELL TO EVERY BliSINESS ^Absolute Necessities — over 2,000
items. Lowest prices. Beats competition. Commissions advanced.
Experience unnecessajT’. Samples Free. Federal, 301-BP South
Desplaines, Chicago. *
Old Gold Wanted a
GOLD — $35 OUNCE. Ship old gold teeth, crowns, jewelry,
watches — receive cash by return mail. Satisfaction Guaranteed.
Free information. Paramount Gold Refining Co., 1500-G Hennepin,
Minneapolis, Minn.
Nurses Training Schools
^ MAKE UP TO $25-$35 WEEK as a trained' practical nurse!
Learn quickly at home. Booklet Free. Chicago School of Nursing,
Dept. D-M. Chicago.
Miscellaneous
ADDRESSES MOVIE STABS, DIRECTORS, PRODUCERS. Any
resident in the Hollywood district, single address reports nil(‘.
Special prices on mailing lists. AA’rite for information. Hollywood
Dire ctory Service, Dept. Si, 249 Nortli Larclimotit, TlQilywnod. Cal.
Coins — Old Money
GET r.llO'FIT.and PLEASURE in collecting old coins. Send IDc
for 56-nage illustrated coin catalog. Yfm'll be delighted with it.
Send for it now. B. Max Mehl, 255 Meld 'Building, Fort Worth,
Texas, .largest rare coin establishment in U. S. Establisliod- 41
years.
Books
READ "THE AWAKENING," by Melvin L. Severy. Amazing
Love Revelation. Unhiue . . . Unft>rgcttable. Just published.
Limited Edition. IHail $2, ,50 money order today Poster Hope C'o.,
Putilishers. .511 SouHi Spring, Los Angeles, California.
Magic Tricks, Novelties
MlNDREADtNG via TELEPHONE! Astonishing eiiteriaiiiment
mystifies. Never fails. Secret &. Cards 25c, Papp, Box 432,
liVorceater, Mass.
microscopic subjects. In the microscopic
world, electrons have been used in the elec-
tron microsco|>e to give the ilhunination
where light misses. In using short-wave
radio, the same effect is attained; the ultra-
short waves “iliiiminate” and are reflected
from the planes. Then, a “telescope”
capable of “seeing” planes so illuminated
readily picks tliem up.
The telescopes are specially designed
receivers witli carefully balanced circuits
that are unbalanced when a plane enters
their field of activity — a very large field in-
deed.
Evidently, this same general tyf)e of de-
vice could be used with even greater suc-
cess in empty space to detect larger meteor-
ites. Using the ultra-ultrashort weaves that
a kystron can generate, bodies down to an
inch or so in size could be illuminated. In
the total absence of interfering fiehls — no
cities, gas-holders, et cetera, to coni'u.se the
issue — a range of several hundred miles
w'ould be possible, even with present eipiip-
ment. With tlie improvements to l>e ex-
pected in the normal cour.se of events, a
range of a thousand or more miles is rea-
sonable. Automatic elect ron-tulje devic-es
could calculate — by balanced fields reacting
in millionths of a second — the apiiroxiinate
course, and avoid collisions.
Jolm Berrjunan’s “SfXicial Flight” be-
comes quite reasonable, but for one general
type of flaw. Berryman suggested mechani-
cal calculating madiines and cour.se plotters.
Such devices would require a total time of
not less than thirty second.s — five for set-
ting the data collected by tlie detector
into the calculator, ten or more for actual
calculation as an ab.solute minimum, five
more for activating the gasoline-oxygen
rockets, and at least ten to liennit the ship
to move in response to rocket tlmist. At
forty miles a second, a meteorite would
cover one tliousand two hundred miles in
that time. In one thousand two hundred
miles of space occupied by a meteor .shower
there would almost certainly be a dozen or
more meteorites. The calculating machine
would be apt to suffer a severe nervous
breakdown due to inability to make a de-
cision as to which one to calculate ou fir.st.
And, of course, if it did decide it might
calculate ou the nearest, or largest, only to
find that it was the smalle.st and farthest
.hat was headed for a dead-center impact.
In one thoiLsand two hundred miles of
ordinary space, there w'ouhl jiornially be
no inch-diaiiietei' ineleoritcs; rocks that big
are exceedingly rare. It’s quite possible
England’s Nazi detector may luru out to
be what tlie doctor (>rder(;d for meteor-
dodging. Sincerely — Arlluu' McCann.
r' ♦ r
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Lee Overalls, gives you extra long wear! . . .
Then if you don’t say Lee is the finest money-saving
overall you’ve ever worn— your Lee Dealer will give
your money back, or a new pair free!
You can’t lose — see your nearest Lee Dealer now!
/ Mail postcard for free
“Tiny Lee” (clever die-
cut overall sample of Jelt Denim) ; also
free illustrated folder, and name of
nearest Lee dealer!
THE H. D. LEE MERC. CO., Dept. AF-4
Kansas City, Mo. Minneapolis, Minn. Trenton, N.J.
South Bend, Ind. San Francisco, Calif. Salina, Kans.
TAILORED SIZES
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SANFORIZED-SHRUNK
W4102
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LOUISE STANLEY
Chesterfield’s Girl of the Month
Ahead for MILDNESS
for BETTER
TASTE
COOLER SMOKING
that’s what smokers want these days and
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are cpiick to give it with their right combination of the
world’s best cigarette tobaccos . . .They Satisfy.
Everywhere you look you see those friendly
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Copyright 1941, Liggett & Myers Tobacco Co.
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